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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874121">Hellborn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApostropheN/pseuds/ApostropheN'>ApostropheN</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Voyager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode: s01e16 Learning Curve, Episode: s04e08 Year of Hell, M/M, Ram Izad, Year of Hell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:01:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApostropheN/pseuds/ApostropheN</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On Day 73, Captain Janeway ordered the crew into escape pods, and most of Voyager's crew fled the damaged starship for their own safety. In one escape pod, alongside Lieutenant Ayala, and Ensign Ballard, Crewman Gerron wonders if this might finally be the end he's been awaiting for years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ayala/Gerron (Star Trek)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The main plot of "Hellborn" takes place during the Season 4 episode duet of "Year of Hell" (part one and two). The flashbacks between occur mostly in the year leading up to Voyager's mission in the Badlands, after a treaty places formerly Federation worlds into the hands of the Cardassians, and the Maquis form to defend their homes. There is also one flashback to the events shortly after the Season 1 episode "Learning Curve," after Crewman Gerron is exposed to plasma gas.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Volan II, 2370</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron Ral eyed the “temple” and felt nothing. Neither the heat of the mid-day sun nor the flick of insects around his fingertips caught his attention. A stone had lodged in his left shoe at some point, but not even that tiny sharpness broke through the wall between him and the rest of the universe he’d built step-by-step between his home and the “temple.”</p><p class="p3">A one storey building, squat and simple like most of the colony structures, it showed signs of the recent “random” violence, but someone had covered the broken windows since the last time Ral and his family had come to worship last month. A semi-successful attempt had been made to scrub off the worst of the carbon scoring.</p><p class="p3">Or was it two months ago? Ral couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. It existed on the other side of the wall.</p><p class="p3">The doors stood open, and from inside Ral could hear a voice leading others in prayer.</p><p class="p3">Vedek Teero. Angry. Loud. Removed, behind the wall, Ral recognized the voice from the last memorial service. When had that been?</p><p class="p3">He couldn’t remember.</p><p class="p3">How many people had died since then?</p><p class="p3">He couldn’t remember that, either.</p><p class="p3">Gerron Ral stared into the open doors of the “temple” and felt nothing.</p><p class="p3">He was still standing there when the service ended.</p><p class="p3">Attendance was down. Perhaps a dozen people left the temple. It didn’t take long for Vedek Teero to see him, or for his gaze to drop to Ral’s hands.</p><p class="p3">“Ral?” He crossed the distance and took Ral by the shoulders, sliding his hands gently down Ral’s upper arms, his elbows, his forearms. Stopping before he reached the blood on Ral’s hands. “Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s not mine.” Mechanical words Ral forced out past the wall. The moment he looked into Vedek Teero’s eyes, though, his chest tightened, and his stomach clenched, and he dropped his head again. The numbness came back. That was better. That was safer.</p><p class="p3">Lesson learned: no eye contact.</p><p class="p3">Vedek Teero’s hands stopped their search for wounds, instead gripping his wrists. “Ral? Whose blood is this?”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t like hasperat,” Ral said. He needed them to understand. “I didn’t eat the hasperat.”</p><p class="p3">Vedek Teero called over his shoulder. More people were gathering now, and a low rumble of conversation was spreading among them. Ral couldn’t make them out, couldn’t conjure names to the faces, couldn’t conjure the energy to care. Some of the people were talking to him now. He heard someone else offer to go check out the Gerron place.</p><p class="p3">His family’s place.</p><p class="p3">His home.</p><p class="p3">The wall cracked. A tiny crack, but enough to bring the memory back.</p><p class="p3">“I didn’t eat the hasperat,” Ral said, voice fracturing on the words. “I don’t like it. They ate it.” He took a breath.</p><p class="p3">Everyone stopped moving.</p><p class="p3">“Where are your parents, Ral?” Vedek Teero said. “Your brothers?”</p><p class="p3">“They ate the hasperat…” Ral said. He couldn’t catch his breath. “I tried to help…” He held up his hands, tugging his wrists free from Vedek Teero’s grasp. “I tried…”</p><p class="p3">Blackness gathered around the edge of his vision. The conversations, which had started up again around him, faded into a murky, formless noise. Vedek Teero’s mouth moved, but Ral couldn’t make out what he was saying.</p><p class="p3">He fell.</p><p class="p3">Someone caught him.</p><p class="p3">He never did learn who.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 77, Escape Pod 6, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Death. Sand. Blood. Grit. Panic…</p><p class="p3">Someone was squeezing his shoulder.</p><p class="p3">Gerron Ral jerked awake. He shrank back into the escape pod chair, caught by the straps holding him in place.</p><p class="p3"><em>Escape pod</em>. Gerron shivered, moving from <em>then</em> to now.</p><p class="p3">“Ral?” Michael Ayala held both his palms up. “Sorry.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron rubbed his eyes. “It’s okay.” He cleared his throat, forcing away the remnants of the dream—memory—down somewhere he could ignore. At least for now. “My turn?” he said, rallying what strength he could find. He’d have sworn he’d just fallen asleep. If it was his turn, though, he’d get through it. The three of them had been taking turns on watch since the escape pod had left Voyager, not that being “on watch” amounted to much more than monitoring their course. They’d been assigned co-ordinates for one of the non-Krenim areas of space, an occupied world Seven of Nine’s astrometric scans had discovered. Adjustments, if needed at all, were rare. Escape pods weren’t shuttles. They still had weeks to go.</p><p class="p3">“Not your turn,” Ayala said. Much taller and far broader than Ral, the big human had been more-or-less hugging the walls of the pod since they’d set out together, almost as though he knew he took up more space than the other two. “There’s a ship on intercept. Lyndsay caught it a few minutes ago.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked across the pod. Unlike Ayala, who he’d known for half a decade, Ensign Lyndsay Ballard had been more-or-less a face he recognized only from the Mess Hall right up until they’d been assigned into the same escape pod. He hadn’t known her well at all.</p><p class="p3">Now the blond human was working the at the control panels of the pod with focus, tapping the screens with a repeated series of commands. Trying to improve sensor resolution, Gerron guessed.</p><p class="p3">“Is it the Krenim ship?” The lack of alarm in his own voice surprised Gerron. Then again, in some way, he’d been expecting something like this for years. If it came now, would it be a relief?</p><p class="p3">“No,” Ballard said, looking up from the console just long enough to flash him the smile he’d gotten used to in the last four days. “Definitely not that Krenim vessel. Wrong warp signature, no signs of being out of phase.” She regarded the two men. “So. Gentlemen. Do we hail?”</p><p class="p3">“Weeks more in this pod, or a gamble on the unknown,” Ayala said. “Not that I’m not enjoying your company.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron eyed him again, waiting for Ayala to decide. As a lieutenant, he was the senior officer in charge. But Ayala regarded Gerron patiently in return.</p><p class="p3">That’s why they’d woken him, then. This was going to be a consensus choice.</p><p class="p3">“If they’re already coming our way anyway,” Gerron said. “Then maybe it’s better to say hello?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala nodded once and turned to Ballard. “Hail them as soon as they’re in range.”</p><p class="p3">“Yes, sir,” Ballard said, with another of her big smiles, then returned her attention to what passed for the conn. Apparently they’d both already wanted to reach out, and he’d made it unanimous. “Hailing range in ten minutes, I’d say.”</p><p class="p3">“We should eat,” Ayala said. “And hydrate.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron heard the unspoken <em>just in case</em> in the man’s voice and couldn’t fault the caution. If the last few months of hell had taught them anything, it was to expect the worst and act accordingly.</p><p class="p3">Ballard broke out the ration bars, tossing one to Gerron, and another to Ayala. “Okay,” she said. “Day four in the pod. So: item number four on the When-We-Get-Back list. Let me have ‘em.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard’s meal-time “game” had started after they’d watched the battered profile of Voyager turn away and the escape pods had scattered on their various vectors of escape. Their first meal together, the impact of what they were facing hitting home, she asked them both, “What’s the first thing you want to do when we all get back together?”</p><p class="p3">Hers had been a kind of berry salad he hadn’t heard of before, which surprised Gerron, though he couldn’t nail down exactly why. Ayala had thought about it, then admitted he’d like a long shower.</p><p class="p3">“Not a sonic one,” he said. “<em>Hot water</em>.” The words came with a longing Gerron understood. They’d done their best to keep clean, but rationing the pod’s supplies, regardless of the recycling systems, hadn’t improved the situation they’d already been in on Voyager.</p><p class="p3">After Ayala and Ballard had taken their turn, they’d both looked at him, waiting, but the only thing that sprang to mind was too embarrassing to say.</p><p class="p3">Ballard, it turned out, could wheedle and cajole like no one he’d ever met, though, so he’d finally admitted the first thing he’d thought of was a holodeck training program.</p><p class="p3">“A <em>training</em> program? Which one?” Ballard asked, leaning forward and biting into her ration bar, apparently rapt.</p><p class="p3">“Academy introduction to exobiology.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala and Ballard stared at him for a few heavy seconds—Ayala had always had a particularly expressive thing he did with one eyebrow—then they burst out laughing. Loud and somehow out of place in the the escape pod, their laughter made him cover his face with one hand. “I know, I know.”</p><p class="p3">“But <em>why</em>?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Tuvok,” Gerron said, which only made the two of them shake their heads and laugh more.</p><p class="p3">“It’s a project he suggested a few years ago. You went to the academy,” he nodded at Ballard, then turned to Ayala. “And you were career colony security, right? Before the Maquis?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala nodded.</p><p class="p3">“Well, I wasn’t really much of anything before I joined the Maquis. When we got to the Delta quadrant, I didn’t know what to do. I could barely contribute.”</p><p class="p3">“That’s not true,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“On a Federation starship? My skillset lacked, to put it mildly,” Gerron said. “The Delaney sisters had to teach me pretty much <em>everything </em>about astrogation and stellar cartography, and I wasn’t exactly grateful for their efforts.” He still felt the sting of embarrassment over how he’d acted around the Starfleet crew when they’d first arrived in the Delta Quadrant. “Tuvok put some of us through some basic training. After, he suggested I investigate some of the first year academy courses, learn more than the basics. I’ve been working my way through Starfleet courses ever since, aiming for passing grades, one course at a time, but I never got around to exobiology.”</p><p class="p3">They were all silent for a moment.</p><p class="p3">“A hot shower, a Jiballian berry salad, and <em>bettering yourself through study</em>,” Ballard said, ticking them off on three fingers. “Way to make us look bad, Gerron.”</p><p class="p3">“He’s good at that,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">After their ribbing—and the unexpected praise from Ayala—he’d chosen something more frivolous during their second and third meals. When Ballard asked again, he offered up swimming in the holodeck, and a jumja stick.</p><p class="p3">“Okay,” he said now, thinking of the memory-dream and the lost chance to sleep. “Number four: a nap. Soft bed, computer playing the sound of the spring rains in Tozhat Province.”</p><p class="p3">“Nice,” Ballard said, then pointed at Ayala.</p><p class="p3">“Coffee,” he said, no pause.</p><p class="p3">“I will never understand that,” Gerron said, thinking of how many humans drank the stuff. Even Captain Janeway herself swore by it. He’d tried it once and spat it back into the mug. “It’s so <em>bitter</em>.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s an acquired taste,” Ballard said, then pointed at herself. “Music. I don’t even care what kind. I’d just want to listen to some live music.”</p><p class="p3">They ate, drank some water, and then waited while Ballard watched the console. Finally, she nodded at Ayala. “We’re in range.”</p><p class="p3">“Hail them,” he said.</p><p class="p3">She opened a channel.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">Day 78, <em>Izad Mar</em>, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">The cargo bay doors of the alien ship were wide enough for Ayala to pilot the escape pod to a landing, which meant they hadn’t needed to use the pod’s emergency transporter, at least. The trio eyed each other for a second before Ayala opened the hatch.</p><p class="p3">A wave of heat washed into the interior of the pod. Beyond it, a pair of aliens waited. Humanoid, with mottled markings on their dark brown skin that seemed to wind down from their temples and necks, at a glance they reminded Gerron superficially of Trill. Their uniforms, variations of a deep rust colour with different symmetrical markings at the throat weren’t particularly casual looking, but neither did they seem overtly militaristic. Gerron was glad to note they bore no obvious sidearms.</p><p class="p3">“Hello,” Ayala said, keeping his hands visible and loose. He stood significantly taller than the alien pair. “I’m Lieutenant Michael Ayala, of the Federation Starship Voyager. This is Ensign Lyndsay Ballard and Crewman Gerron Ral. We appreciate you coming to pick us up. Permission to come aboard?”</p><p class="p3">The shorter of the two humanoids nodded. “We welcome you. I am captain Izora vir Arte, and this is my quartermaster, Elam vir Praeder. Welcome onboard the <em>Izad Mar</em>.” She paused, then tilted her head. “May I ask how you ended up in Ram Izad space in a sublight craft?”</p><p class="p3">“That’s a long story,” Ayala said. “And we’d be happy to tell it. Our starship was damaged in an attack, and most of us had to abandon ship. We were heading for an inhabited planet in a binary star system in hopes of getting help. We’re just trying to get through this sector, where we’ll meet up with the rest of our crew, and hopefully our starship, once she’s repaired.”</p><p class="p3">“The planet in the binary star system is Alshem IV, a colony of ours. It was our destination before we spotted your craft,” Elam said. “If that’s where you wish to go, it appears your fortune is good.”</p><p class="p3">“That would make a nice change,” Ballard said, with her usual infectious grin.</p><p class="p3">The man met her gaze with a similar smile, then gestured. “Come. Let’s introduce you to the crew, and you can tell us your long story.”</p><p class="p3">As they led the way, Gerron took advantage while their backs were turned to wipe his forehead. He wondered if it would be too rude to undo his uniform jacket.</p><p class="p3">These Ram Izad kept their ship <em>warm</em>. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Day 80, Alshem IV, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron waited until the second of the twin suns dipped below the horizon before he started his walk back from the landing pad. Heat still radiated from the ground, but most evenings, a cooler breeze tended to spill down the mountainsides in the night hours.</p><p class="p3">What the Ram Izad generously called their “colony” was in fact more of a small manned tritanium mining and processing facility located at the edge of their space, which wasn’t by any means a large slice of the sector to begin with. Most of the systems around them belonged to the Raste, a not-so-peaceful species Elam vir Praeder said had been pushed back after a two-front war had ended with an alliance between Mawasi and Nihydrons. The Raste had annexed a few of the Ram Izad systems, leaving others—like this “colony”—on the wrong side of a long crescent of Raste-claimed territory.</p><p class="p3">The Ram Izad and the Raste weren’t at war, but the Raste didn’t take kindly to any ships in their territory. According to Elam, the resulting détente had stood for years, alongside a heaping dash of subterfuge. The Ram Izad didn’t let a little thing like borders stop them from getting their tritanium back to their homeworld via the most direct path.</p><p class="p3">By the time Gerron had walked the full path from the landing pad, the last remnants of the crimson double-sunset had faded on the horizon and the first stars were pinpricking their way across the sky. The high, domed roofs of the settlement with their crowns of solar panels, and the larger processing facility behind them, brought an unexpected sense of comfort despite the lingering heat and the lighter-than-standard gravity.</p><p class="p3">Maybe it was the freedom to walk around in the open air after so long in an escape pod. Or maybe it was just the novelty of having a plan.</p><p class="p3">Well. Part of a plan. An idea for a plan. A pre-plan.</p><p class="p3">Gerron tapped the PADD against his his open hand, and turned onto the first residential street, passing the first few domes until he arrived at the place that was—for now at least—home.</p><p class="p3">The quarters the Voyager crew had been assigned were small and utilitarian, usually reserved for temporarily visiting technicians who weren’t needed at the colony year-round, but after their time in the escape pod, it felt positively luxurious inside. A single room took up most of the space in the dome, with the exception of a small ‘fresher set between two wedges that made up the sleeping chambers. Lyndsay sat on one of the two short couches—more like slightly raised cushions, really—with a glass of water in one hand and her feet crossed beneath her. She looked up when he entered.</p><p class="p3">“What do you think?” she said, holding up her free hand and waving her fingers.</p><p class="p3">He didn’t have to ask what she meant. The second he’d stepped inside the relief was palpable. It was cool in their quarters. Actually <em>cool</em>.</p><p class="p3">“It’s wonderful,” Gerron said. “You’re a miracle worker.”</p><p class="p3">“Thank you, thank you,” she mimed a small bow where she sat.</p><p class="p3">“When did you find time?” he said. Of the three of them, Ballard had been the one most valuable to the Ram Izad since the <em>Izad Mar</em> had landed, bartering her considerable engineering skills for their goodwill. Federation know-how had gone a long way, and she was usually the last of them home in the evening.</p><p class="p3">“I’ve been sneaking back here to work on the environmental systems during meal breaks,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">The door opened again, and Ayala entered. He stopped mid-stride, and turned to her. “You’re amazing.”</p><p class="p3">“I know, I know,” she repeated her bow. “You may continue the praise. But close the door.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala chuckled, closing the door behind him. The sleeveless vest he wore was damp with sweat, much like Gerron’s.</p><p class="p3">Gerron went to their small kitchenette and picked up two glasses. “Water?”</p><p class="p3">“Thank you,” Ayala sank onto the other “couch,” shifting his knees to the side to make up for his height.</p><p class="p3">Gerron filled the glasses and brought them over, joining Ayala on the couch. He waited while Ayala drank, taking a few sips of his own as well. What passed for replicator technology among the Ram Izad didn’t compare to the Federation. They used what what might charitably be called advanced protein resequencing. But their recycling technologies were top-notch, losing almost nothing from closed systems, and he couldn’t fault the mineral water they provided.</p><p class="p3">“I’m almost done with the sensor upgrades,” Gerron said. His own particular contribution to earning their keep had come straight out of his routine duties on Voyager—interpreting long-range sensor data. It wasn’t about mapping astrogation charts, put the principles were the same, and in his down-time, he was updating the star charts from Voyager’s scans with Ram Izad knowledge. They had a great map of a good portion of the sector now.</p><p class="p3">“How did it go?” Ballard said, interrupting his train of thought.</p><p class="p3">“I got them ten percent,” Gerron said. His goal had been to increase not only the range of the Ram Izad sensors, but clarity. It reminded him of his work getting Voyager’s astrometric lab online, only far more limited in scope. “Maybe eleven. Captain vir Arte was pleased, and now that I’ve figured it out for the <em>Izad Mar</em> sensors, it’ll be easier to replicate it among the rest of their fleet.”</p><p class="p3">“Cheers to that,” Ballard said, holding her glass over he small table between them. Gerron didn’t even have to lean forward to clink his glass against hers.</p><p class="p3">“The two of you are making me look bad,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Tough day at the office?” Ballard said, grinning. She had an odd sense of humour, but the longer he was around her, the more Gerron had come to appreciate it.</p><p class="p3">“No, not really,” Ayala said. “They appreciate any help I can give them, but their security is solid. I’ve suggested a few minor tweaks, but mostly I’m just an extra pair of hands.”</p><p class="p3">“And height,” Gerron said. The Ram Izad weren’t particularly tall. Ayala was both taller and wider than even the largest of the locals.</p><p class="p3">“And height.” Ayala finished the last of his water. “I’ve run them through a few of Tuvok’s protocols, which they ate that right up. The Ram Izad like routine and order, I think, and it seems to work for them. Honestly, when the <em>Izad Mar</em> leaves next month, I might even miss this place a little.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron bit his lip.</p><p class="p3">“Look,” Ballard said, pointing at him. “He’s doing it again.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron tried to school his features, but it was too late. Ayala was staring at him, too.</p><p class="p3">“Bajoran worry face,” Ayala said, but his voice wasn’t unkind. “Out with it, Gerron.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s just an idea,” Gerron said, picking up his PADD to cover the flush he knew was spreading up the back of his neck. “But… what if we could leave earlier?”</p><p class="p3">That got their attention. With effort, he managed to meet their gazes. “There are four inoperable ships on the landing pad. According to the technicians I was working with, they’re a mix of leftovers from before the accords with the Raste, and ships not suitable for getting tritanium back to their homeworld. The Ram Izad use them for parts, mostly, for their Raste-authorized cargo ships making the runs. But one of them is a bit bigger than a runabout, and it’s more-or-less intact. It’s a class of ship they use for small personnel transfers or inspections.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s smile grew the more Gerron spoke. “When you say leave earlier, how much earlier are we talking?” </p><p class="p3">Gerron held the PADD out to Ballard. She took it, tapping it.</p><p class="p3">“Warp four-point-five?” She looked over the PADD at him.</p><p class="p3">Gerron shrugged. “That’s a guess. Their warp drives are so different. The geometry is a bit beyond me.”</p><p class="p3">“They remind me of Vulcan ships,” Ballard said. “A ring configuration…” Her voice drifted as she looked at Gerron’s notes. “I think I can do better than four-point-five.” </p><p class="p3">Gerron swallowed some water. “Since it’s a smaller craft, it hasn’t been stripped down for parts as much as the other ships. In fact, I think some of the systems that are missing we could replace with things from the escape pod. The rest we’d have to ask the Ram Izad for. They might say no.”</p><p class="p3">“But they might say yes,” Ayala said. “And even at warp four-point-five, a month earlier gets us that much closer to the other side.”</p><p class="p3">“If they say yes,” Gerron said. The Ram Izad were already being quite accommodating, but to ask for a ship was a step beyond allowing them some space in their colony and passage to their homeworld in exchange for their labour and know-how.</p><p class="p3">“What if we waited until I finish the engine upgrades?” Ballard said. “I told them to expect warp six, but the more I look at their warp field geometry, the more I’m sure it’s going to be six-point-four. What if I overdeliver, show them the gain, <em>then</em> ask for the runabout? Strike while they’re grateful?”</p><p class="p3">“Oh, you’re good,” Ayala said. “You sure you’re Starfleet?”</p><p class="p3">“Hey!” She gasped with mock affront. “I’ll have you know diplomacy is a core tenet of the Federation.”</p><p class="p3">“Uh-huh,” Ayala said. He winked at Gerron.</p><p class="p3">Gerron exhaled, and sipped at his water. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Tozhat Province, Bajor, 2370</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Every day, Gerron Ral walked the same path between his work at the Transport Commission to his cousin’s home twice. Bajoran faces smiled, or sometimes even wished him a good evening. He tried to reply, sometimes managing the briefest acknowledgement—a nod, a momentary meeting of their gaze, something that might have passed for a smile of his own—but more often than not he felt that wall of nothing between him and the world, and he walked by, staring ahead without really seeing.</p><p class="p3">He passed the temple last on his way to work, and first on his way home. The light toned brickwork was beautiful, borderline ornate in places. Vedeks and Ranjens mingled in gardens around the building, and worshippers came and went. He often passed in the evening as a service was set to begin. Ral watched the people enter, pausing until the last person went inside, and the doors were closed.</p><p class="p3">Then he’d walk on.</p><p class="p3">It was a pattern he’d followed for nearly a month now, and the repetition, if nothing else, felt like something to hold onto.</p><p class="p3">“You’d be welcome to join us.”</p><p class="p3">Ral turned. The Vedek had approached from the gardens across the street, and was wiping dirt from her hands. Her smile was welcoming, and gentle, and as far as he could tell, there was no pity in her eyes.</p><p class="p3">Even behind the wall, there was some comfort in not seeing pity in her eyes. It got through, just enough, for him to feel the need to reply.</p><p class="p3">“Thank you,” he said, in a tone clearly passing on the offered opportunity.</p><p class="p3">“May I?” the woman said, holding out one hand.</p><p class="p3">Ral exhaled, but he didn’t move. The Vedek took it as permission, cupping his ear with her hand. Her gaze didn’t shift from his own, and Ral waited. When she was done, he would go back to his cousin’s house, and he would share a meal, and he would try to sleep.</p><p class="p3">And tomorrow would be the same day again.</p><p class="p3">The Vedek let go, and to his surprise, she let out a very un-Vedek-like snort.</p><p class="p3">He blinked, waiting.</p><p class="p3">“Been a while for you, then?” she said.</p><p class="p3">He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. A while for what? Worship? Prayer?</p><p class="p3">Feeling?</p><p class="p3">“I…” His voice came out rough, and he cleared his throat. Had he spoken to anyone at all today? He had no idea. “I’m afraid I’m all out of faith,” he said, and immediately cursed himself a fool for saying so. There was no way the Vedek was going to let that stand. Not if she was anything like any of the other Vedeks he knew.</p><p class="p3">“I figured as much. You look at the temple doors like they could swallow you whole. Also?” She tapped her earring. He didn’t wear one. He hadn’t worn one since he’d left Volan II. “But faith isn’t the only reason to go inside.”</p><p class="p3">“It isn’t?” That was news to him.</p><p class="p3">“Do you like kava nut tea?”</p><p class="p3">He blinked again. Following the Vedek’s shifts in conversation was taking more concentration than anything in his bare, simple routine had in days. “Kava nut tea?” He hadn’t had that in months. Years, maybe. His mother used to drink it. He hadn’t realized it was being produced again—it wasn’t the most optimal use of kava, a foodstuff staple.</p><p class="p3">Memories threatened, and he clamped down on them.</p><p class="p3">“Come inside. No worship. Just tea.” She started walking to the temple, not looking back at him.</p><p class="p3">He stood frozen for a breath, then followed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Ral’s routine changed, but only slightly. He woke, ate a mostly silent meal with his cousin, walked past the temple, arrived at work, logged incoming and outgoing transports and manifests, and completed the daily paperwork. But instead of walking home again right after, he paused at the temple for a cup of the wonderful tea. The rest of his day ended the same as before: the walk home, an evening meal, and then to sleep as much as possible before it all began again.</p><p class="p3">Vedek Anra didn’t ask him questions. Their first tea together passed in complete silence until he finished his cup and she thanked him for the company and said she’d see him again tomorrow. He found enough words to thank her in kind, and walked home feeling largely the same.</p><p class="p3">By the end of the first week, she asked him what he did, and he explained his job at the Commission—largely routine, simple data work tracking shipments, inventories, and flight plans for the most part. She didn’t ask anything else, as though she knew she’d depleted his entire reserve of conversation in one request. </p><p class="p3">After the second week, he’d felt conspicuous enough without his earring in the Temple that he’d put it back on, if only to stop people staring at him with open curiosity. His cousin had smiled at him at breakfast the first morning he’d come bearing the earring, but much like the Vedek, she didn’t say anything about it.</p><p class="p3">After a month of tea, he arrived at his usual time and found the Vedek waiting for him, the tea brewing, and a large decorated wooden case in the centre of the room. He was three steps into the room before he realized what it was, and froze.</p><p class="p3">Behind the wall, Gerron Ral wasn’t numb, or even angry.</p><p class="p3">He was afraid.</p><p class="p3">“Just tea,” Vedek Anra said, holding up a hand. “If that’s all you want.”</p><p class="p3">He managed a weak nod. He had to use two shaking hands to hold his cup, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from the case. Neither the Vedek nor Ral spoke, and he left as always, if perhaps a bit faster than usual.</p><p class="p3">Three more visits passed. The case was always there, alongside the tea. His hands shook less with each cup.</p><p class="p3">On the seventh visit since the case appeared, the Vedek poured their cups, handing Ral his cup before picking up her own. Then she said, “This is the last of the tea, I’m afraid. I’ve ordered more, but it will be a while before a shipment arrives.”</p><p class="p3">“Okay,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“Are you ready?” she said.</p><p class="p3">He wasn’t. He’d never be. He managed to shake his head.</p><p class="p3">“That’s not a fair question, is it?” She smiled. “If I told you no one is ever ready, would that help?”</p><p class="p3">It didn’t. “Why?” he said instead.</p><p class="p3">Vedek Anra sipped her tea. Swallowed. “Orb experiences are personal,” she said. “But I don’t think there’s anything lost in sharing details with those the Prophets show us.”</p><p class="p3">Ral put his cup down, stunned. She’d been granted a vision. About <em>him</em>?</p><p class="p3">“I’m not…” His words trailed off. He wasn’t what? Anyone. Anything. Gerron Ral could barely manage <em>existing</em>. He’d let Vedek Teero use his “connections” and left the few remaining people he’d known for most his life on Valon II for the safety of Bajor, and yet felt just as unsafe here as he’d felt surrounded by the very real threat of Cardassian rule. Just as numb. “I’m not sure,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“Ah,” she said. “Well, in that case I can definitely offer comfort, then. You probably won’t be sure either, after.”</p><p class="p3">He stared at her. Despite the wall, despite the fear, he laughed. It was a small sound, and gone almost as soon as it had started, but it happened. He shook his head. “That’s...not actually comforting.”</p><p class="p3">She rose, and went to the case. He could have stopped her.</p><p class="p3">He didn’t.</p><p class="p3">The Vedek opened the case, and inside, like a swirling cluster of lights, and warmth, and sound, spun an orb.</p><p class="p3">She left the room.</p><p class="p3">Gerron Ral took a breath, and then turned to face the orb.</p><p class="p3">Light filled him, and the wall could not keep it out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 83, Alshem IV, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“For the record, when we meet up with the rest of the crew?” Ballard said, “You’re in charge of explaining to Captain Janeway about all this technological <em>help</em> we’ve given the Ram Izad.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala crossed his arms. “Seriously?” The smile that followed a moment later belied the gruff tone. When Ayala smiled like that, Gerron thought, it softened the man’s whole face. He was still intimidatingly large, but as a whole it downgraded him to yellow alert. “Throwing me to the wolves?”</p><p class="p3">“You’re the ranking officer,” Gerron said. “All on you.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala faced him. “You too?”</p><p class="p3">“Captain Janeway might look at your haircut and feel so bad she’ll forgive any of our creative interpretations of regulations,” Gerron said. As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back, but then Ballard laughed loud enough it echoed through their quarters.</p><p class="p3">Ayala shoved him, and Gerron grinned, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt.</p><p class="p3">“It’s too hot to grow it,” Ayala said, rubbing the short buzz of black hair that remained. They’d asked the Ram Izad for lighter clothes, and while Lyndsay had made their quarters tolerable there was only so much they could do among a species who considered “comfortable” a full ten degrees warmer than they did. “And besides, the Captain’s orders were pretty clear. Find allies. Faster ships. Get home. And technically, we haven’t given them anything they couldn’t have figured out on their own. <em>Eventually</em>.” He took a sip of <em>as'nam</em>, turning the cup in his hand, staring at it. They all liked the drink, which was cool and refreshing and reminded Gerron of jumja. “Didn’t you say Elam was almost there?”</p><p class="p3">“On the intermix ratios?” Ballard nodded. “Absolutely. And with a little creative warp field geometry, they’ll be pushing warp seven.”</p><p class="p3">“There you go. He just needed a little bit of…hands on attention,” Ayala said, one eyebrow creeping up.</p><p class="p3">Ballard stared at him, but Ayala just took another slow sip, gaze locked with hers, neither of them backing down from their impromptu staring contest.</p><p class="p3">Gerron watched them, leaning back in the coach, drinking his own <em>as'nam</em>. Ballard’s quick humour continued to be a balm, and Ayala’s sometimes-rumbly voice, even with that disaster of a hair-cut, was… Well. Warmth spread through Gerron’s chest.</p><p class="p3">When was the last time he’d been this relaxed? He couldn’t remember. Maybe late night shifts, working on long-range sensor amalgamations with one of the Delaney sisters. Or working with Seven and Emmanuel on the long-range sensor integration for the new astrometrics lab. Or his weekly meals with Dalby, who never asked him any questions, but shared his table in the mess hall while they ate more or less in silence.</p><p class="p3">Except no. If Gerron was honest with himself? The comfort of this moment wasn’t matched by any of those times.</p><p class="p3">He wondered where Dalby was. Or the Delaneys. Or anyone who’d left Voyager after the Captain’s orders. They didn’t dare turn on their subspace beacon, not until they were clear the sector, not with that Krenim ship potentially looking for anyone from Voyager.</p><p class="p3">Not for the first time Gerron told himself the rest of the crew were fine, and tried not to think of the ones who were gone. Emmanuel. Chell. Henley. </p><p class="p3">Ayala and Ballard both broke at the same time, laughing at each other’s serious face, and despite the darker turn of his thoughts, Gerron couldn’t resist joining them.</p><p class="p3">“Well, hands-on, or <em>elsewhere</em>,” Ayala said, dodging the pillow Ballard threw at him,“I think we’re well within our orders.”</p><p class="p3">They toasted that.</p><p class="p3">Gerron almost bit his lip, but remembered not to at the last moment. He didn’t want to ruin the moment with his easily spotted Bajoran Worry Face, but he couldn’t imagine a better time to bring up what he’d been working on.</p><p class="p3">“Shields,” he said.</p><p class="p3">As non-sequiturs went, it sufficed, shutting down their laughter. Ayala and Ballard both looked at him, their smiles still in place. Ayala’s unguarded expression shook him, like it always did. He tried to meet the man’s gaze, but ended up staring down at their shared tabletop instead, then back at Ballard.</p><p class="p3">“What about them?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“If the Krenim weapon ship is still out there, we can’t match it in battle. We know that. Voyager couldn’t even do it. But Seven of Nine’s temporal shields could buy us time to get away.” He picked up his PADD, pulling up his idea. “Retreat is the best option, and temporal shields up our chances.”</p><p class="p3">When neither of the others replied, Gerron looked up. They hadn’t cut him off. If anything, Ballard and Ayala looked intrigued.</p><p class="p3">“How would you generate a stable field?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">That had been the crux of it. The Ram Izad used a deflector technology that was as effective as it was different, creating a multi-vector scattering field rather than the cohesive shield frequencies Federation ships employed. In some ways, the Ram Izad method made for a stronger protection, especially against physical torpedoes, but the downside was the lack of stability inherent to the design. You couldn’t adjust Ram Izad deflectors to specific configurations the way you could Federation shields.</p><p class="p3">Which included Seven’s temporal shielding.</p><p class="p3">“I was thinking the pod phasers,” Gerron said. “I already transferred the sensors, and I just finished installing the pod’s comm systems today and had it running diagnostics, so I had spare time. I did an inventory of everything we still have left on the escape pod, everything we haven’t already stripped for parts or traded. The Ram Izad disruptors are better than anything we could do with the basic phaser strips on the pod but it struck me the strips still use <em>emitters</em>, emitters capable of handling sustained energy output the way we’re used to handling it, so…” His voice trailed off as he drifted further from his own expertise.</p><p class="p3">“You want to turn phaser strips into shield emitters?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron nodded.</p><p class="p3">Ayala turned to her. “Could that work on the scale we’d need for temporal shielding?” Of the three, she’d know.</p><p class="p3">Ballard paused to consider.</p><p class="p3">“Here,” Gerron said, handing her his PADD.</p><p class="p3">She looked at the work he’d already done. Her eyebrows rose, and after a few moments, she started nodding. “I get the idea.”</p><p class="p3">“Is it a terrible idea?” Gerron asked.</p><p class="p3">“Not in principle,” she said. “But it’s a lot of work. And you need to tweak a few things here. I can point you in the right direction, but if we want to be out of here on schedule, I’m going to be right up to the wall with the warp drive, not to mention integrating the pod emergency transporter. I can help a little, but between helping Elam oversee the warp upgrades on the last of the cargo fleet and working on our ship…”</p><p class="p3">“I can do it,” Gerron said. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll have questions, especially when it comes to aligning the temporal counter-frequencies. That’ll be beyond me, but if I get the emitters installed and an interface up and running couldn’t we work on the specific harmonics while we’re underway?”</p><p class="p3">She considered. “That’s right.”</p><p class="p3">“You learn this in one of Tuvok’s courses?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron nodded. “The basics. Also, Tuvok and Seven had the whole department working on the temporal shields for Voyager for weeks before we got it right.”</p><p class="p3">“Well, my slate is pretty clean. I can help. I know my way around shield configurations. You think it could stop one of their torpedoes?” Ayala said, taking the PADD from Ballard. “Or that beam?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s a good idea,” Ballard said, not quite answering. But she didn’t sound dismissive. “And on that note, gentlemen, it’s time for bed for me. I’ve got a hot date with intermix ratios first thing in the morning.”</p><p class="p3">“Elam needs some hands on for that, too?” Ayala said, putting the PADD down on the table.</p><p class="p3">Ballard narrowed her eyes. “Give me my pillow back, Michael.”</p><p class="p3">He did.</p><p class="p3">She threw it at at him again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Day 102, Alshem IV, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Did we ever decide on a name for this ship, or are just going to stick with ‘the ship’ or ‘a bit bigger than a runabout’? Or whatever the Ram Izad call these?”</p><p class="p3">“They call them dashers,” Gerron said. “You think we should name it?” It hadn’t occurred to him, but then humans seemed to have a much stronger desire to name their ships than Bajorans did.</p><p class="p3">Lindsay shrugged. “Why not? Besides, it’ll sound less awkward when we hail Voyager if she has a name. Okay, try reinitializing. I think I got it.”</p><p class="p3">They were working on the bridge of the as-yet-unnamed dasher, side by side in the two front-facing stations, which they’d configured as conn and ops. They’d replaced the Ram Izad chairs with the models from the escape pod, which were taller and would be more comfortable for Ayala. It was only one of quite a few reminders of just how much of the ship now bore Federation technology. Many of the display screens even had blue-and-amber Starfleet LCARS interfaces. In the end, they’d all but stripped the pod down to its bare frame, but for some reason some of the sensor upgrades were refusing to take. Gerron had hit a wall, but Ballard had a few suggestions.</p><p class="p3">Gerron tapped his controls. Readings filled his screen. “Lateral sensors are online. You did it.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard raised her hand, and Gerron slapped it in the human traditional “high-five” she’d introduced him to the week prior.</p><p class="p3">“Why not just call it a dasher?” he said.</p><p class="p3">“Sounds like a subordinate reindeer.” She shook her head.</p><p class="p3">“Pardon?” Gerron frowned.</p><p class="p3">“Never mind.”</p><p class="p3">“So what do you want to call it?” he said.</p><p class="p3">“What are we calling who?” Ayala came through from the back half of the ship, wiping his hands on a cloth. He’d been loading the last of their cargo.</p><p class="p3">“The ship,” Gerron said. “Lyndsay wants to name it.”</p><p class="p3">“Of course we have to name her,” Ayala said. “I thought we’d wait until our first test flight.”</p><p class="p3">“Well, the lateral sensors are officially online,” Gerron said again, surprised at the growing excitement in his chest. They’d hoped to try flying the ship in a couple of days. But if there was one thing he’d learned in the last few weeks, it was that Lyndsay Ballard <em>hated</em> being idle. She also hated cleaning up after herself, but Gerron didn’t mind tidying their shared space if it meant Ballard could focus on their ship.</p><p class="p3">Ayala looked at Ballard. “So we could fly her now, is what I’m hearing?”</p><p class="p3">“We just need our official Ram Izad <em>owner</em>.” Ballard nodded. After Ballard’s “diplomatic” approach had indeed worked as she’d hoped, the Ram Izad had been willing to let the Starfleet trio restore and repair the ship, but not take ownership. Part of the nonaggression pact with the Raste involved some very specific rules about who was allowed to control a vessel, including when flying in Ram Izad space, but especially any traffic through Raste space. They could fix the ship, but they wouldn’t be allowed to fly off with it without an official Ram Izad citizen to claim ownership.</p><p class="p3">Luckily, that hadn’t turned out to be a problem.</p><p class="p3">Ayala tapped his combadge. “Ayala to vir Praeder.”</p><p class="p3">“Yes, Michael?” Elam’s voice came over the channel almost instantly. They’d given him one of the spare combadges from the pod after he’d offered to be the solution to their legal problem.</p><p class="p3">“Are you free for a test flight?”</p><p class="p3">“The dasher is ready?” Elam sounded borderline giddy. “I’m on my way.” The comm signal closed off.</p><p class="p3">“See?” Ballard said. “We need to give this ship a name, or she’ll end up being ‘the dasher.’”</p><p class="p3">Gerron didn’t see the downside in referring to the ship that way, but again: humans.</p><p class="p3">“Any ideas?” Ayala asked.</p><p class="p3">“How do we fell about <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>?”</p><p class="p3">“That depends,” Ayala said. “What was that?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s Klingon. It means ‘Own the Day.’”</p><p class="p3">Gerron choked. He sucked in a breath, coughing. The other two stared at him, alarmed. Ayala slapped his back until Gerron raised a hand. “I’m okay.”</p><p class="p3">“Not a fan of Klingon?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“No, no.” Gerron managed to keep his voice even with effort. A shiver ran down the back of his neck. <em>Own the day</em>. “No, I… I like it.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard grinned. “Then we have ourselves a name, gentlemen.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Orb, Outside of Time</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice.”</p><p class="p3">Ral couldn’t catch his breath—was he breathing?—but his own heartbeat echoed around him. One moment he’d been at the temple, in front of the orb, and the next…</p><p class="p3">“Karm?” he said. His oldest brother, seemingly alive and well, like he’d once looked, before the treaty, before the fighting and “accidents,” before the poisoned spices…</p><p class="p3">Before the hasperat.</p><p class="p3">Gerron Karm’s gaze didn’t waver, and although it was definitely Karm, Ral know it couldn’t be, because Karm was dead.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice,” Karm said again.</p><p class="p3">“Pardon?”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will own the day.”</p><p class="p3">“Own the day?” Ral shook his head, but it felt like he wasn’t moving, not really. There was a kind of perfect white light everywhere, but it wasn’t bright enough to hurt his eyes. “I… I don’t understand, Karm.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice.” This came from behind him. Ral turned—did he?—and out of the soft white nothing strode his father.</p><p class="p3">“Oh,” he said. He knew his wasn’t his father, but the words came anyway. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to save you. I tried.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral dies twice.” His mother now. Every time he turned around—he wasn’t moving—someone else was there. Someone he’d lost.</p><p class="p3">“That doesn’t make sense,” he said. There were tears in his eyes, he could feel them. His vision had never been clearer.</p><p class="p3">“It does, and does not.” His other brother, Neryn. “Gerron Ral will, and will not.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will own the day.” Karm.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice.” His father.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral dies twice.” His mother.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will be, and be.” Neryn again.</p><p class="p3">He turned from one to the rest as they spoke. And he saw figures behind them, indistinct amidst the white light. Behind his father, he could almost make out that the figures were wearing uniforms of some kind. A glint of something metallic over their heart, mostly dark…</p><p class="p3"><em>Starfleet</em>? The very people who’d turned their backs on him and his family.</p><p class="p3">The other group, behind his mother, were more difficult to see. The light seemed brighter there, and he couldn’t see much of their outlines to suggest any sort of standard uniform. In fact, they looked like they were wearing different clothes from each other, in styles he didn’t recognize for the most part.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t understand,” he said again.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will own the day.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral dies twice.”</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will be, and be.”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“Ral!”</p><p class="p3">He turned at the shout—he didn’t move—and there was someone new. Himself.</p><p class="p3">They faced each other. Ral thought this other him looked different. <em>Changed</em>. He didn’t recognize the clothes he wore, either, but on his chest he bore a Starfleet communicator.</p><p class="p3">The light flared, and between blinks, Ral’s family, the light, and all the other figures were gone. He rose, shaking, and closed the doors on the orb’s case, blocking out the shifting shards of light and warmth. It clicked audibly.</p><p class="p3">A moment later, Vedek Anra stepped back into the room.</p><p class="p3">“You had a pagh’tem’far,” she said.</p><p class="p3">Ral looked at her, emotions roiling in him, more than he’d felt in the months since he’d left the colony behind. Anger. Pain. Loss. And worst of all, perhaps: <em>hope</em>. It took every bit of willpower he had to hold still.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know what it meant,” he managed.</p><p class="p3">“That’s not unusual.” The Vedek’s voice was kind.</p><p class="p3">“They said—“</p><p class="p3">“Not yet.” Vedek Anra held up her hand. “In time, Ral. But not yet.”</p><p class="p3">Right. They weren’t supposed to talk about it, or at least not right away. Ral was supposed to let the pagh’tem’far settle, pray for insight and understanding, and to allow the guidance to come to him before he spoke to anyone else about it. Otherwise, he risked allowing someone else’s interpretations to colour the will of the Prophets.</p><p class="p3"><em>Gerron Ral lives twice. Gerron Ral dies twice</em>. Of all the words the Prophets had spoken to him, those repeated. Could it be literal? It was certainly possible to be resuscitated from some fatal injuries or accidents, or even diseases.</p><p class="p3">Well. If Ral somehow had two chances, two turns on some sort of cosmic spring ball court, then there was no risk in taking one of those lives to do with as he wanted, was there?</p><p class="p3">Two lives. Two deaths. He thought about the Starfleet combadge he’d seen on his own chest, and the rumours of Federation citizens who’d gone rogue, fighting back against the Cardassians and their ruthless treatment, while Starfleet and the Federation looked the other way.</p><p class="p3">He’d heard they called themselves the Maquis.</p><p class="p3">If Ral had two lives and two deaths nothing could stop him from devoting one of each to vengeance.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 128, Raste Territory, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> jolted as twin yellow beams skimmed the edge of the deflectors.</p><p class="p3">“They seem upset,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Hadn’t noticed,” Ayala said. “Hold tight.” The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> dove, and the next spray of disruptor fire from the Raste Interceptor missed them completely.</p><p class="p3">“Deflectors at ninety percent,” Elam said from the tactical station. “We’re gaining ground. Nice flying.”</p><p class="p3">“Thank you,” Ayala said. “Not out of the woods yet, but once we make it past that gas giant we’ll hit warp. You’re sure we’re faster than them?”</p><p class="p3">“At warp? Yes. I imagine that’s why they were waiting here for us in the first place.”</p><p class="p3">“Their lead ship is hailing us,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Oh, <em>now</em> they want to talk?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“If they’re talking, they’re not firing,” Ayala said. “You up for it, Elam?”</p><p class="p3">“Of course,” Elam said. “Though I wouldn’t suggest slowing down.”</p><p class="p3">“Wasn’t planning to. Open a channel, Gerron.”</p><p class="p3">“Channel open.”</p><p class="p3">“This is the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>,” Elam said, smiling at the face that appeared on the viewscreen. “I’m Citizen Elam vir Praeder. How may I help you?” It was Gerron’s first look at the Raste. Their skin, a pale bluish shade that would have seemed unhealthy in many species, didn’t seem to have any follicle growth at all, instead sporting a series of cranial ridges that might well be the envy of a Klingon or two. Unlike the Ram Izad, their uniforms were high-collared and marked with bright white slashes. Clearly militaristic. For his part, Gerron kept their own channel focused tight on Elam’s face. If the Raste sensors hadn’t already told them, there was no need to advertise the were flying with just one Ram Izad on board.</p><p class="p3">“You can help by <em>explaining</em> your ship,” the Raste said. His voice had a slight trill to it that could have been pleasant in other circumstances.</p><p class="p3">“I’m not sure I understand,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“Six more minutes to warp,” Gerron said, pitching his voice as low as he could. Ayala nodded.</p><p class="p3">“Your ship has been modified.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh, you noticed?” Elam leaned forward, smiling. “Isn’t she lovely?”</p><p class="p3">“You will stop for boarding and inspection,” the Raste said. “I am invoking the right under article seven of the Borders Pact.”</p><p class="p3">“Article seven?” Elam frowned. “You’ll excuse me, but there’s no emergency. That boarding clause is specific to emergency situations.”</p><p class="p3">“Are you refusing?” The Raste’s voice dripped with menace. Gone was the pleasing trill.</p><p class="p3">Gerron’s screen lit with a new contact, coming out from beyond the far side of the gas giant.</p><p class="p3">“There’s a third Raste ship, ahead of us,” he whispered.</p><p class="p3">“Three against one?” Ballard muttered. “Hardly seems fair.”</p><p class="p3">Elam remained the picture of comportment. “I’m merely asking for clarification,” he said carefully. “Of what, exactly, the emergency might be?”</p><p class="p3">“You are smuggling technology through Raste space,” the Raste said, after a long pause.</p><p class="p3">Elam tilted his head. “I assure you the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> is Ram Izad property, and while its systems may contain some new experimental technologies, <em>they are our own</em>. As we say on the homeworld, Progress is as inevitable as the suns. If the Raste Delegates wish to open a trade discussion or a formal request for access to our scientific research, I’d suggest the usual—“</p><p class="p3">The channel closed with an abrupt tone.</p><p class="p3">“Diplomatic options,” Elam trailed off. “Well. That could have gone better.”</p><p class="p3">“So much for a non-aggression pact,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“For the Raste, that <em>was</em> non-aggressive.”</p><p class="p3">“That’s encouraging.”</p><p class="p3">“They’re targeting us again,” Gerron said. “Both ships.”</p><p class="p3">“Evading. Pattern omega.” Ayala worked the conn. The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> zagged, dodging both streams of disruptor fire, but losing some of the ground they’d gained in the process.</p><p class="p3">“The ship ahead of us is moving to an intercept position,” Gerron said. “They’ll be within weapons range before we’re clear to go to warp.”</p><p class="p3">“Ideas?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“They outgun us, but their shields aren’t as strong,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“They’re firing again,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Got it,” Ayala said. He twisted them out of the path of the first shot, but the second grazed their deflectors.</p><p class="p3">“Deflectors are at eight-seven percent,” Elam said, and Gerron could hear the pleasure in the man’s voice. “You weren’t kidding about improving the scattering capabilities, were you?”</p><p class="p3">“I never kid about upgrades,” Ballard said. “You should see what I can do with a pattern buffer.”</p><p class="p3">“Two minutes until the third ship has us in range,” Gerron said. He scowled at his screen, trying to think of something that could buy them even a few more seconds.</p><p class="p3">“<em>Pattern buffers</em>,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Pardon?” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“They don’t have transporters,” Ayala said, not looking up from his console. “We do.”</p><p class="p3">“Yes we do,” Ballard said. “Give me a run down on the lead ship’s shields, Ral.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron focused his attention on the ship ahead of him. “Scatter based deflectors, like the Ram Izad, less sophisticated, randomized variance. But I don’t think you’d get a transporter beam through them. Not with the pod transporter system, even with what you’ve done to integrate it.”</p><p class="p3">Another strafe of disruptor fire reminded Gerron there were still two ships behind them already within range. Ayala dodged the beams, but the second ship hadn’t fired this time. It held its barrage back until Ayala turned away from the first ship, striking the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> nearly square, rocking them all.</p><p class="p3">“Seventy nine percent,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t have to get something through their shields,” Ballard said. Then she got up out of her station, gripping the back of her chair for support. “How long have I got?”</p><p class="p3">“Two minutes until we’re in the lead ship’s weapon’s range,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Of course. Two minutes.” She left the bridge at a run.</p><p class="p3">“Incoming,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">Ayala jolted the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>, waiting until the last second to slip just beneath the disruptor fire, then zagged almost immediately to starboard. The second ship’s attack missed as well.</p><p class="p3">“Fool me once,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">They were losing more ground, though. “Ninety seconds,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Bridge to Ballard,” Ayala said, opening a channel. “Now would be good, Lyndsay.”</p><p class="p3">“Almost ready.” Her voice was immediate. “I’m playing chemist. Just need a bit of… And a some… ah, got it.”</p><p class="p3">“Rear Raste ships widening approach vectors,” Gerron said. “Port ship has locked on… Firing.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala put the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> into a tight arc to port, then as soon as the disruptors had passed overhead, rolled to starboard.</p><p class="p3">“Not helping!” Ballard yelled.</p><p class="p3">“Sorry,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“If I target the ship ahead of us,” Elam said. “I’d technically be as much in breach of the Borders Pact as they are, but if you think…”</p><p class="p3">“Not yet. Lyndsay?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Done! Get us within transporter range!”</p><p class="p3">“Yes ma’am,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“That’s cutting it close,” Gerron said. “Transporter range in ten seconds.” He watched the readout. They’d be within range of the lead ship’s weapons at roughly the same time. “Five, four, three, two…”</p><p class="p3">“Energizing!” Ballard called.</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked up at the viewscreen. It was too far away to make out the telltale blue shimmer of the transporter, but a second later, <em>something</em> detonated at the front of the Raste ship.</p><p class="p3">“There’s our path,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron watched the readings and blinked. Ayala’s “path” was straight at the lead ship.</p><p class="p3">The ships behind fired again.</p><p class="p3">Ayala didn’t even try to dodge, letting the shields take two hits.</p><p class="p3">“Fifty-nine percent,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“Lead ship’s weapons are still powered, but they’re not locking on,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">Ballard came back into the bridge, sliding into her station.</p><p class="p3">“Whatever that was, it worked,” Ayala said. “They’re not firing.”</p><p class="p3">“Makeshift ionic devices detonating that close to a ship tend to wreck havoc with sensors,” Ballard said. “At least for a few minutes.”</p><p class="p3">“Could we perhaps adjust our course a bit more <em>around</em> that ship up ahead?” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“No,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“They’re firing again,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“All power to the deflectors,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Aye, sir,” Ballard said, working fast.</p><p class="p3">The disruptors struck hard.</p><p class="p3">“Forty percent,” Elam said. His calm was slipping.</p><p class="p3">“Almost there,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“They’re locking on again,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Michael?” Elam said. “We can’t ram them, and they don’t seem capable of moving out of our way.”</p><p class="p3">“Hold steady,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Firing,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">Ayala tapped the conn, and the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> lurched down. The disruptor fire from the two ships behind them lashed out mere metres above their hull…</p><p class="p3">…and struck the lead Raste ship.</p><p class="p3">“They just lost weapons and engines,” Gerron said. “We’ve got a clear path.”</p><p class="p3">Elam laughed. “That was poetry.”</p><p class="p3">“Didn’t want to break the pact,” Ayala said. “Other two still following?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron checked. “No. They’ve broken off pursuit. Both heading to the damaged ship.” Still, he kept his eyes on the readings, and offered a countdown until Ayala engaged the warp engines.</p><p class="p3">Once the stars outside the viewscreen were the streaks of a ship at warp, they let out a collective breath.</p><p class="p3">“Damage report,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“The dorsal deflector projector took a bit of a beating, and we’ve lost some attitude control on the starboard impulse engines.” Ballard said. “Nothing immediately serious, but I’ll get started on repairs.”</p><p class="p3">“May I offer assistance?” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“Of course.”</p><p class="p3">The two left the bridge.</p><p class="p3">“No sign of pursuit,” Gerron said, checking. “And no ships ahead on long-range sensors.”</p><p class="p3">“Glad to hear it.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked up at the displays around them. His eye caught on the Starfleet interfaces dotted here and there on the bridge of the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>.</p><p class="p3">“We stand out,” he said.</p><p class="p3">Ayala turned to him, eyebrow raised.</p><p class="p3">“It’s the Starfleet technology. You heard that Raste commander. I wonder if we should keep the Starfleet systems in sleep modes until we need them.” He thought about it. “I’m betting the transporter stands out the most—they wouldn’t have had any idea what they were, which probably caught their attention in the first place.”</p><p class="p3">“And if we need them?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Ah,” Gerron said, chastened. They’d just played out that exact scenario. Bringing transporters online from a sleep mode would have taken longer than they’d had to work with. “Maybe not, then.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s not a bad idea,” Ayala said. “I’m all for avoiding trouble. We can run it by Lyndsay. She if she’s got any ideas on how we can keep a lower sensor profile without sacrificing our options. Blending in might not be a bad idea.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron nodded.</p><p class="p3">“But sometimes you need to make peace with standing out. Being noticed.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron glanced at him, and Ayala stared right back. He usually shied away from such direct looks, but instead he found himself returning it.</p><p class="p3">“Right,” Gerron said, finally turning back to his console. “Right.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Day 129, Raste Territory, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Two hours into his shift manning the conn, the bridge door opened and Gerron turned to see Elam standing there. “May I join you?”</p><p class="p3">“Of course.”</p><p class="p3">Elam took ops, though he didn’t log into the console. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Gerron finally glanced at him. “Can’t sleep?”</p><p class="p3">“Wouldn’t be wise to try,” Elam said. “Not yet.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron shook his head, not following.</p><p class="p3">Elam tapped his forehead. “Ram Izad tend to dream… <em>vividly</em>. All part of the symmetry. Given we were fighting off three ships a couple of hours ago, it’s best I let my thoughts turn to more sedate things before I try to sleep.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh,” Gerron said. That sounded like a request for small talk. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I was so focused on the sensor upgrades for the <em>Izad Mar</em> I didn’t talk about much else with the technicians. I didn’t learn much about your people.” He paused. “You said ‘the symmetry’?”</p><p class="p3">“Yes.” Elam nodded. “The core tenet of the Ram Izad philosophy. And our physiology. Our scholars like to debate if the latter inspired the former, but I leave that up to them.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron regarded Elam, really looking at him. The man’s face did appear to be symmetrical. His skin markings were, too. “Your people value symmetry as a virtue, then?”</p><p class="p3">“Balance and symmetry, yes.” Elam said. “In fact, Ram Izad means ‘people of the balance.’ You are a different species than Lyndsay and Michael, yes? Bajoran?” He said the word carefully, like he wanted to be sure he got it right. Gerron could see why Lyndsay found the man so charming. Elam was good looking, yes, but he had an earnestness to him, too.</p><p class="p3">“That’s right.”</p><p class="p3">“Do your people have a unified spirituality or cultural tenet? I asked Lyndsay, and she seemed to find the question amusing. She said humans do not have much of a unified anything. Apparently they have a multiplicity of faiths and cultural variances.”</p><p class="p3">“That they do,” Gerron said. “We have the Prophets. The Bajorans, I mean. They’ve guided the Bajoran people for our entire recorded history. I can’t say it’s unified—there are many different sects, with just as many interpretations, and a lot of arguing—but the Prophets definitely form the core of my people.”</p><p class="p3">“The Ram Izad have no psychic talent for prophecy,” Elam said. “Though we do have a penchant for spotting repeating patterns in history.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh. No, the Prophets aren’t Bajorans. They’re of Bajor, but they’re not like me.” Gerron eyed Elam, who raised his hands in a gesture Gerron had learned meant he was interested. “They’re not corporeal beings. The Prophets exist in the Celestial Temple, and over tens of thousands of years, they’ve sent guidance to the Bajorans. Through the Prophets, the Bajoran people learned the tenets of charity, humility, and faith. At least, that’s what the Vedeks would tell you, and our spiritual leader, the Kai.”</p><p class="p3">“But you wouldn’t?” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“Well.” So much for small talk. “No, I would. It’s just… Take the Emissary. He arrived, as was prophesied, but he was a human, like Michael and Lyndsay, and he was a Starfleet officer. The Emissary plays a key role in so many of the prophecies of our faith, but at no point until it happened did anyone on Bajor even consider the Emissary wouldn’t be a Bajoran.”</p><p class="p3">“Your Prophets didn’t tell you?”</p><p class="p3">“The Prophets aren’t always clear. They exist on another level of being, where the past, the future, and the present are all the same thing.” Gerron blew out a breath. “Don’t get me wrong. I believe in the Prophets, and I pray to them, and I know they’re never wrong. But they don’t always communicate well.”</p><p class="p3">“Spoken from experience,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“I…” Gerron stopped. He certainly hadn’t expected that. “Yes. That’s true. How did you know?”</p><p class="p3">“I’ve noticed your speech patterns tend to turn inward,” Elam said, moving his hands toward his chest. “Your statements are usually balanced with a tone suggesting inquiry.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “That’s probably the kindest way anyone has ever described it.”</p><p class="p3">Elam smiled. “I find it refreshing. We Ram Izad tend to be declarative speakers. Even when discussing opinions. Your openness in discourse is a credit. But when you spoke of your Prophets just now, it was with a tonal certainty you don’t often invoke.”</p><p class="p3">“You’d make a great Vedek,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Vedek?” Elam said, then nodded. “Oh. Right. One of your spiritual elders?”</p><p class="p3">“More or less,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“I’m afraid not. I prefer working with physical elements, not spiritual ones. Hence my career as a quartermaster.” Elam lifted his hands again, obviously still interested. “So this Emissary arrived without warning?”</p><p class="p3">“Right. The Emissary didn’t just arrive without warning, he found the Celestial Temple—a stable wormhole—where the Prophets exist.”</p><p class="p3">“So your prophets are both non-corporeal and extra-dimensional. That’s exceptional, indeed.” Elam leaned back in his chair. “We don’t have a singular individual like your Emissary in our teachings, but then again we don’t have functionally precognitive beings guiding us, either. Nor a stable wormhole. I believe the closest analogy to your Emissary would be the elevation of twins.”</p><p class="p3">“Your people consider twins special?” Gerron’s chest tightened with a bittersweet thought of the Delaney sisters. He offered up a silent prayer that they were—and would continue to be—safe.</p><p class="p3">“Twins are a kind of paired symmetry, and as such valued as expressions of balance. When my people discovered technology to aid in conception, there was a great discourse about whether or not we should use it to increase the likelihood of twin births. It created quite a schism in our culture for a good number of years.”</p><p class="p3">“What was the outcome?” Gerron genuinely wanted to know.</p><p class="p3">“Genetic tampering specifically to increase the chance of twin births was eventually declared illegal, on the basis it actually created imbalance, not balance.” Elam lowered both hands. “The birth of twins was restored to a sign of significance, and twins continue to be elevated.”</p><p class="p3">“And what does that mean? To be elevated?”</p><p class="p3">“All our youth are given the opportunity to discover where they can best serve themselves, their families, and the people as a whole, but twins are given extra attention, training, and most often find themselves as leaders,” Elam said. “Be that spiritual or political or even as innovators or explorers. The voice of twins, especially when in unison, is given great weight. But also when they take different life paths, it is considered an example of paired fates.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron tried to imagine having that sort of expectation placed on someone by virtue of their birth. It reminded him a little bit of D’Jarras, though Bajorans hadn’t held to their caste system since the occupation. If they had, he’d have been a farmer.</p><p class="p3">“I worked with twins on Voyager,” Gerron said. “Human women. A pair of scientists. They were very close to each other, though quite different in temperament.”</p><p class="p3">“The symmetry is often so,” Elam said. Then he rose. “Thank you for the talk. I look forward to dreams of wormholes and prophecies.”</p><p class="p3">“You’re welcome, Elam,” Gerron said. “Good night.”</p><p class="p3">Elam left. Gerron ran another sensor sweep, but there were no sign of Raste ships. He eyed the chronometer. Ayala would be relieving him in a little over three more hours, and he could get some sleep of his own.</p><p class="p3">He envied Elam’s people. Knowing what to expect from his dreams?</p><p class="p3">That would be a luxury.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Deep Space Nine, 2370</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">There was a temple on the promenade, and Gerron Ral found himself there. It was small, and quiet, especially this late in the station’s night. He lit a candle and knelt down to pray, careful to put his satchel between his knees and to keep the strap looped around his wrist. Not that he really had to worry. No one had so much as glanced at him all day.</p><p class="p3">He’d kept his head down, regardless.</p><p class="p3">He couldn’t find words. After a few moments in silence, any thought of prayer escaping him, Ral reopened his eyes and eyed the altar, and the cloths, and the candles.</p><p class="p3">He didn’t feel at peace. He didn’t feel righteous. He felt…</p><p class="p3">He felt nothing.</p><p class="p3">Ral closed his eyes again, and forced words from his memory. It was a simple prayer, an oft-repeated one of childhood. Asking the Prophets for guidance, to be with him, and to lead him where his destiny might lie.</p><p class="p3">When he was done, he rose, pinched out the candle, and turned to go. Another worshipper was entering as he left, and they nodded to each other, though a moment later Ral wouldn’t have been able to place the woman’s face if there’d been latinum on the line. Ral slung his satchel over his shoulder, barely noting the weight of the data pads inside.</p><p class="p3">They didn’t weigh much, but they’d have impact.</p><p class="p3">There would be no turning back after this. Oddly, the closer the moment came, the calmer he grew. He should have been nervous, or at least worried. So much could still go wrong, but in the back of his mind, he heard the voices of the Prophets—of his family<span class="s1">—</span>again.</p><p class="p3"><em>Two lives. Two deaths. Own the day. Be and be</em>.</p><p class="p3">No one stopped him between the temple and the docking ring. No one stopped him when he got on the transport. When a man sat across from him, Ral looked up and met his gaze only briefly. A fellow Bajoran, they’d met only once before, when Ral sent his own clumsy messages out through the people he knew might be able to help him. No one else came to take the other two seats, though Ral could hear passengers moving back and forth in the corridor, finding their assigned compartments.</p><p class="p3">The other Bajoran waited until an hour after the ship had left the station, until the stars outside their small passenger compartment were streaks of low-warp light. Finally, he broke the silence.</p><p class="p3">“How did it go?” he said.</p><p class="p3">“It worked,” Ral said, sliding the satchel off his shoulder. “The data rod you gave me had no trouble bypassing Commission security protocols.” He held the satchel out to the other man.</p><p class="p3">The man took it, opening it carefully and pulling out the first PADD. He pulled up the data, but blinked. “This is poetry.” He frowned, eyeing Ral with distrust. “If this is a set-up, it won’t go well for you. I’ve got friends on board.”</p><p class="p3">Ral swallowed. “It’s just in case someone checked the PADDs. I’d say I was studying poetry. Here.” He took the PADD back, let the man watch as Ral tapped in a code, and returned it to him.</p><p class="p3">Shipping schedules, cargo manifests, and flight paths replaced the poetry on the screen.</p><p class="p3">The man smiled. “Nice touch.”</p><p class="p3">“Won’t the Federation change everything once they realize you have all that?” Ral said.</p><p class="p3">The man nodded. “They will. But we’ll prioritize. We’ll get what we need. Same access code for all the PADDs?”</p><p class="p3">Ral nodded.</p><p class="p3">“And you still want an introduction?”</p><p class="p3">The last possible opportunity to change his path, Ral realized, was this Bajoran man.</p><p class="p3">“Yes,” Ral said. “I want to join the Maquis.”</p><p class="p3">The man held out his hand.“Tabor Jad,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral,” Ral said, and shook.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 163, Raste Territory, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Okay, so someone needs to say it, Michael, and I guess it’s going to be me,” Ballard sat at the small table, a cup of <em>as'nam</em> in hand. She was fresh for the day, unlike Gerron, who’d passed the Conn to Elam a few minutes ago, and had stopped by what Ballard jokingly referred to as “Neelix’s Ready Room”—their tiny mess hall and crew lounge—for a glass of water before bed. Ayala had been waiting for him, despite having finished his own shift four hours earlier.</p><p class="p3">They’d shared the space for a few minutes in quiet, and then Ballard had arrived, gotten her <em>as'nam</em>, and made her announcement.</p><p class="p3">Ayala raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” he said, miming bracing for impact against their shared table.</p><p class="p3">“The beard.” Ballard pointed with her mug. “It’s a no.”</p><p class="p3">“The beard is magnificent,” Ayala said, rubbing the beard in question. It was still fairly new, and Gerron was willing to admit it was growing in well, but “magnificent” pushed it.</p><p class="p3">“You look like a new professor.” Ballard took a sip. “A new professor of <em>poetry</em>.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron choked on his water, spluttering and coughing around his mis-swallowed sip.</p><p class="p3">The other two didn’t so much as look his way.</p><p class="p3">“And you have something against poetry professors?”</p><p class="p3">“Oh you have <em>no idea</em>,” Ballard leaned back. “It’s not a good look for you.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron, finally breathing, eyed the two. They were doing their long-stare thing again. He took quick stock, running mental odds. He’d bet on Ballard this time.</p><p class="p3">“What if I like poetry?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“You don’t.”</p><p class="p3">“But if I did?”</p><p class="p3">“But you don’t.”</p><p class="p3">He blew out a breath. “Okay, I give. What’s wrong with poetry professors?”</p><p class="p3">Ballard leaned in. “Will you shave?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala narrowed his eyes. “I’ll consider it.”</p><p class="p3">“I’ll gamble on that,” Ballard grinned, obviously considering this a win. “I grew up <em>surrounded</em> by literature professors. You know who can suck every ounce of joy out of anything you happened to have enjoyed reading?”</p><p class="p3">“Literature professors?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Ballard tapped her nose.</p><p class="p3">Gerron smiled. He knew that particular human affectation. Both the Delaney sisters did it.</p><p class="p3">“So if you didn’t like them, why stick around?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Ah, I was a captive audience. My father is a professor. Comparative Xenolinguistics and Interspecies Historical Narrative Structures. He could quote you entire cross-species parallels of heroic journeys.” She took a sip. “And he did. <em>Often</em>.” </p><p class="p3">“That sounds interesting, actually,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Then I’m not telling it right. Do you know what the hero’s journey is for Vulcans? It’s <em>boring</em>, that’s what it is.”</p><p class="p3">“But logical, I’ll bet,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Fair enough.” Ballard laughed. “Give me a Ktarian romance heroine any day. But if he caught me with one of <em>those</em> books, I’d have to endure a lecture on the importance of <em>serious</em> literature.”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t think I’ve ever read a Ktarian novel,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“I’ll lend you some when we get back to Voyager. But then I have to lecture you on serious literature. It’s only fair. If I had to suffer, you have to suffer.”</p><p class="p3">“I’m starting to see why you became an engineer,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“We all become who we are because of our parents… or in spite of them,” Ballard said, raising her glass. “Am I right?” She smiled at them both.</p><p class="p3">Gerron tried to school his reaction, but Ayala glanced at him, and then Ballard followed suit, a small line forming between her eyebrows.</p><p class="p3">His chest tightened, and he picked up his cup with as steady a hand as he could manage. He took a swallow of water.</p><p class="p3">“So, I’m pretty sure I just said something wrong,” Ballard said. The usual vim in her voice was gone, replaced by a softer tone she rarely used.</p><p class="p3">Ayala was looking at him, but Gerron couldn’t bring himself to return the gaze. “It’s okay,” Gerron made himself say the words. “I lost my parents, but you’re still right. I’m who I am because of them.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh, Ral, I’m so sorry, I—”</p><p class="p3">“No.” Gerron shook his head. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” He rose, and raised his glass. “I’m going to get some sleep. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lynsday. Really.”</p><p class="p3">He hoped his retreat seemed casual.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron wasn’t surprised when the door to his shared quarters opened a few minutes later. Ayala entered, and took a few moments to ready himself for bed, then pulled out his bunk, settling in. Gerron stayed on his side, facing the wall, aiming to achieve sleep but knowing it wasn’t going to come any time soon. They usually spent some time talking before turning off the light.</p><p class="p3">“You awake?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">And there it was. Gerron blew out a breath and rolled onto his back. When he turned to look, he saw Ayala across the short distance, on his side and staring back at him. The beard was gone.</p><p class="p3">Gerron couldn’t help smiling. “You shaved.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala sighed. “She was right. It didn’t suit me. It was just something different to do.”</p><p class="p3">“Ah.”</p><p class="p3">“You okay?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron considered dismissing the question, but to his surprise, he didn’t want to. In their quarters, with the lights dimmed and the faint sound of the engines thrumming through the ship, there was a kind of comfortable intimacy at play.</p><p class="p3">He met Ayala’s gaze long enough to share an all-too-familiar Maquis look with the man. He didn’t have to spell it out if he didn’t want to. There was a reason Ayala talked about his sons, but never his late spouse, though Gerron had heard the details from someone else. Maybe Henley had told him, he thought, though he wasn’t sure. But he knew Ayala had been there when a Cardassian had fired on a crowd of protestors, and had watched his partner die. Everyone in the Maquis had some version of the same story, but they usually didn’t tell it directly, letting their reasons and histories pass on from member to member without having to explain their own pain. He imagined that’s how Ayala had known his parents were dead, if not the specifics.</p><p class="p3">He’d never really told anyone the specifics.</p><p class="p3">But now, in his quarters with Ayala, Gerron knew Ayala would listen.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t like hasperat,” Gerron said. The word caught in his throat, but he swallowed past it.</p><p class="p3">Ayala frowned for a moment, then sat up on one elbow. The broadness of the man was rarely something Gerron could miss, but in the pull-out bunk, it was all the more obvious how much space Ayala took up.</p><p class="p3">With the sheet sliding down his chest, it was also hard to ignore the human on a whole other level.</p><p class="p3">“That’s a Bajoran wrap,” Ayala said. “A flat bread rolled up around a filling?”</p><p class="p3">“Yes,” Gerron said. “It’s spiced. Some serve it so hot you’d swear it was going to sear your taste buds.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala nodded. “I’ve had it before. Reminded me of my grandfather’s burritos, though you’re right. Spicier.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s the brine,” Gerron said, and then had to take another moment to swallow.</p><p class="p3">Ayala didn’t stir, and didn’t press. That helped.</p><p class="p3">“The Cardassian <em>governors</em> poisoned the brine,” Gerron said. “Where I grew up. After the Federation gave our world to the Cardassians, I mean. They claimed it wasn’t them, that it was poor cargo handling protocols on the Bajoran transport, but we all knew, and…” He stopped again. “Anyway. I hadn’t eaten any. I always made my own dinner while my father made hasperat. My oldest brother was making fun of me, my father asked my mother if she was sure I was his, everyone laughing at my lack of spice tolerance, the way they always did, me included, and then… Well. It was pretty quick, at least.”</p><p class="p3">He closed his eyes, trying not to remember the blood, or the choking sounds, or his own helplessness. He’d learned, eventually, there’d been literally nothing he could have done. No antidote. No solution.</p><p class="p3">It hadn’t helped then. It barely helped now.</p><p class="p3">“I’m sorry,” Ayala said, and he reached one arm out across the short distance between them.</p><p class="p3">Gerron took the offered hand, and squeezed it. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala didn’t let go, and Gerron allowed himself a few more seconds before he broke the contact. He rolled onto his back, and a few seconds later he heard Ayala do the same. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing, and tried to think of other things.</p><p class="p3">It didn’t work.</p><p class="p3">When he woke up with a wild cry some hours later, Ayala knelt beside his bunk, squeezing his shoulder and telling him he was okay. Gerron grabbed the large man and held on, and Ayala didn’t say a word until Gerron fell back to sleep.</p><p class="p3">When he finally did wake again, Ayala was already gone, but there was a mug of <em>as'nam</em> waiting for him beside his bunk.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Juhraya, 2370</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Ral waited until the sun was just above the roofs of the buildings opposite the warehouse, a narrow window of low glare that might lend him a little more chance of being unnoticed. Not that he attracted attention. A lone Bajoran, walking with head bent, apparently tired from a day’s long work was hardly unusual on Juhraya, and Ral assumed it the reason he’d been given this role to play.</p><p class="p3">It was a small part, but important enough he could feel sweat beading along the back of his neck. His entire role could be encapsulated into two simple steps: don’t stand out, get close enough to the doors.</p><p class="p3">It also didn’t involve him meeting anyone else in the organization. Ral understood this was a test, of sorts. And a way to protect the Maquis if he was captured. Right now he knew only one person’s name, assuming Tabor Jad was his real identity. And he hadn’t seen the man since he’d agreed to make introductions.</p><p class="p3">“Introductions” had turned out to be instructions on a PADD, and a single, small device.</p><p class="p3">He took a slow breath, ignoring the chemical taste to the air that pervaded Juhraya since the Cardassian Union had become the “governors,” and forced himself not to hurry in the slightest.</p><p class="p3">All he was supposed to do was look like no threat whatsoever, be beneath notice, and get close enough to the warehouse to block communications with the signal scatterer. What happened after that he didn’t know, but he assumed it would end with Maquis in possession of whatever was inside the warehouse, and no one the wiser until too late.</p><p class="p3">With what he hoped passed for casual ease, Ral tugged the worn hat off his head and wiped his forehead, pausing for just a few moments, projecting a weariness. He glanced up into the sun, feigned squinting and grimacing, and then stepped to the side of the main path, as though dodging the heat of the sun.</p><p class="p3">No one seemed to take notice. Ral didn’t dare so much as glance at the glinn guarding the warehouse, a Cardassian who was on the last hour of his shift and hopefully tired and bored. A few more steps would do it. The signal scrambler didn’t have a lot of range, but all he needed to do was be close enough to the warehouse entrance to cover it, the glinn, and the panel to the left of the doors.</p><p class="p3">He took another few steps off the path, slung his back half-off his shoulder, and pulled out a bottle of water. While he drank, he was able to look at where the guard was stationed without being obvious about it.</p><p class="p3">Except the guard wasn’t standing there any more. He was walking towards Ral.</p><p class="p3">“You,” the glinn said.</p><p class="p3">Ral put the water away as though he hadn’t heard the glinn speak. Doing his best impersonation of someone beneath notice—someone it would never occur to think was being addressed by the glinn—Ral put his pack back over his shoulder, pressed the stud on the signal scatterer, and started walking forward again.</p><p class="p3">“Hey. You. <em>Bajoran</em>.” </p><p class="p3">Okay, that Ral couldn’t ignore, not even in his persona.</p><p class="p3">He turned, frowning, looking around as if unsure where the voice had come from, and letting his gaze drop once he “noticed” the Cardassian. “Yes, sir?” he put a bit of a waver into his voice at the last moment, remembering to at least pretend to be afraid.</p><p class="p3">He wasn’t. The wall between him and the world, the promise of two lives, an endless pool of hatred for everything this creature stood for left no room for fear. </p><p class="p3">“I’m thirsty,” the Cardassian said.</p><p class="p3">Ah. Ral bobbed his head, and dug into his pack a second time, pulling out the water bottle and holding it out.</p><p class="p3">The Cardassian snatched it from his hand, unscrewing it and sniffing. “Water?”</p><p class="p3">“Yes,” Ral said.</p><p class="p3">The Cardassian sneered. “Do you really think I’d drink from the same bottle as a <em>Bajoran</em>?” He tipped the bottle over, letting the water pour out onto the ground. Once it was empty, he shoved it against Ral’s chest, hard. Ral scrambled to take hold of it again.</p><p class="p3">“Well? Did you?” Apparently, the glinn had decided he’d wanted nothing else in the world more than a Bajoran to demean, and had singled him out for some humiliation.</p><p class="p3">“I… I don’t know, sir,” Ral said. He’d lost track of how long they’d been interacting, but if the signal scatterer was doing its job, he assumed everything was going according to whatever plan the Maquis had.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know, sir,” the glinn mocked his voice, and Ral forced himself to flinch, and took a half-step away. It was a gamble, but if it looked like Ral might bolt, the glinn might…</p><p class="p3">“Where do you think you’re going, <em>Bajoran</em>?” The glinn grabbed at his shirt, pulling him back in front of him. Then he started walking back toward the warehouse door, dragging Ral along with him.</p><p class="p3">It was everything Ral could do not to laugh while the glinn dragged him back to the warehouse the Cardassian was supposed to be guarding, and pushed him up against the very doors Gerron had been told to get close to.</p><p class="p3">The amusement faded, however, when the Cardassian revealed a very sharp looking knife.</p><p class="p3">Ral tensed, dropping all pretence of being a cowed, broken colonist. The glinn frowned, finally seeming to realize something wasn’t right. He tapped his communicator.</p><p class="p3">Nothing happened.</p><p class="p3">“You—“ the glinn started, but a second later, a phaser beam whistled past Ral’s ear, and the glinn bounced back against the warehouse door with a grunt, stunned. Ral held him up, glancing over his shoulder long enough to check if there’d been anyone left on the street to see, but all the workers were gone, and there were no cries, angry or otherwise. He was surprised the Maquis had opted to shoot at all, but not ungrateful.</p><p class="p3">The warehouse door opened. A familiar face took the weight of the Cardassian from Ral and pulled him inside.</p><p class="p3">“Head back to your room,” Tabor Jad said. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”</p><p class="p3">The door closed.</p><p class="p3">Ral turned and walked away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 206, Raste Territory, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron stared out through the viewscreen of the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>, and watched the particles of ice part before the forward deflectors. He checked the conn, and everything was exactly as it should be. The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> was tucked in the tail of a comet, riding along through a Raste system, with just enough power to the engines to match the comet’s vector. Short of a cloak—which they didn’t have—it was the best way to stay hidden until they could make a quick jump to warp and be out of the system before the Raste ships could even think of laying in a pursuit course.</p><p class="p3">Pretty to look at, too.</p><p class="p3">“Reminds me of skiing.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron turned. Ayala could be damn quiet for such a large man. He had two mugs in hand. He handed one to Gerron, who took it gratefully. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala took the station beside him, calling up the sensors. Gerron watched him work. Ayala wasn’t due to be up here for another hour. His jaw was set in a tight line. He looked angry. <em>Again</em>. Something had been bothering the man for a few days now. He’d been silent in their small shared quarters, which wasn’t like him, and even Ballard’s joking hadn’t seemed to garner much in the way of a smile from the man.</p><p class="p3">Gerron owed him. And this was as good a time as any.</p><p class="p3">“Michael?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s fingers stopped, but he didn’t look up.</p><p class="p3">Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to…” Gerron sighed. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you. I mean, if something is. There might not be. But if there is, and if you do, I… I could listen. You’ve listened to me, and I’d like it if you… I’d like to return the favour.”</p><p class="p3">The silence that followed almost convinced Gerron Ayala wasn’t going to say anything.</p><p class="p3">“He’s eight.” Ayala said. The human eyed the viewscreen for a second, resting his arms on the console, fists clenched. Ayala was barely holding himself in check, Gerron realized. Whether from crying, or screaming, or punching the console, Gerron couldn’t be sure, but at that moment, Gerron knew Michael Ayala wasn’t just angry. He was <em>furious</em>.</p><p class="p3"><em>He’s eight</em>, Gerron thought. Who was <em>he</em>?</p><p class="p3">Then he realized. Gerron’s chest tightened in sympathy. Of course. “Your son?” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“My youngest. Half his life. I’ve been gone <em>half his life</em>,” Ayala said, grinding out the words between clenched teeth. “He was four when we got dragged here.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron swallowed. He hadn’t been following the stardate. It hadn’t seemed worthwhile, especially with such a long way still to go to cross the sector before they could even consider activating their subspace beacon. But then again, unlike Michael and Lyndsay, he didn’t really have anyone important waiting for him on the other side of the sector. Or even in the Alpha Quadrant.</p><p class="p3">“I’m so sorry,” Gerron said. </p><p class="p3">“Just some days are harder than others.” Ayala blew out a breath, then rubbed his eyes. “It is what it is.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s awful,” Gerron said. “That’s what it is.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala finally looked at him, and cracked a small smile. “Thanks. Misery loves company.”</p><p class="p3">“It does?”</p><p class="p3">“Human saying.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh,” Gerron leaned back in his seat, considering the words. “That’s an interesting concept.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala eyed him. “Is there no Bajoran version?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron thought about it. “<em>Alaris m’jan eis ellis allon, pera vi ki’yana</em>.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala shook his head.</p><p class="p3">“Pain shared will hurt no less, but often heals faster,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“I like that,” Ayala said. “How about you, then? Got any pain you need to share?”</p><p class="p3">“Uh,” Gerron stuttered, caught off guard, and to his surprise, Ayala laughed.</p><p class="p3">“Don’t worry,” Ayala said. “I didn’t think so. I know you’re not the sort.”</p><p class="p3">“Not the sort?” Gerron didn’t like the sound of that. After all, it hadn’t been that long since he’d clung to the man after a nightmare, which had been more than humiliating enough. “What does that mean?”</p><p class="p3">But if Ayala remembered the nightmare incident, it was obvious that wasn’t what he meant. “You don’t flinch when things get rough. Remember raiding the warehouse on Juhraya? The Cardassian was all over you from the start. You had nothing, that glinn had his disruptor and a knife, and probably weighed twice as much as you, and you still got him exactly where you wanted him to be.”</p><p class="p3">“You heard about that?” Gerron was surprised. It had been his first official mission for the Maquis.</p><p class="p3">“I saw every second of it. I was shadowing you. New recruit, and all that. I gave the order for Sveta to stun the guard. When I told Chakotay about it, he said you were exactly what the Maquis needed. Cool under pressure. We had enough hot-heads. Myself included.”</p><p class="p3">“I didn’t know that,” Gerron said. He felt oddly exposed given the events were from, what, four years ago now? Nearly five. More than half a lifetime, for Ayala’s youngest son. Ayala had shadowed him? Well, he’d already known the big man could be stealthy when he wanted to be. But Ayala was the one who’d told Chakotay Gerron could handle himself? He’d had no idea. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p3">“You sure you want to thank me?” Ayala said. “Look how it turned out.”</p><p class="p3">When Gerron looked at him, Ayala was staring out the view screen at the “snow” again, clenching and unclenching his fists.</p><p class="p3">Pain shared.</p><p class="p3">“I die twice,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">Ayala frowned at him. “Pardon?”</p><p class="p3">“Years ago. Before that glinn? I…had a <em>pagh’tem’far</em>. An orb experience.” He eyed Ayala. “Do you know what that is?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala nodded.</p><p class="p3">“Right. Well, the Prophets gave me a vision. You’re supposed to keep them to yourself, sit with them until you understand them, or at least wait before you seek out advice, but I’ve never figured mine out and the Alpha Quadrant is a long way away, so… The Prophets told me I’d live twice and die twice. And I needed to <em>own the day</em>.” He gestured at the ship around them, which shared its name with the phrase.</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s eyes widened. “Oh.”</p><p class="p3">“I started living <em>apart</em>,” Gerron said. He eyed the conn readouts again, even though nothing had changed. “With a space between me and everyone else. Shields up. Because if this was just the first of two lives, then…” He swallowed. “After what happened to my family…” He paused again. “Well. I wanted to hurt the Cardassians. That was what I’d do with the first life the Prophets said I had. And when I died and got to live again—whatever that might mean, whenever it eventually was—then… I don’t know. I guess I thought the second time I’d do something else. Something different. Maybe take that gap between me and everything else and put it away.” He reached out and put his hand on Ayala’s forearm. “Don’t feel any guilt over recommending me to Chakotay. You didn’t do this to me. I did it to me. With the Prophets guiding me.”</p><p class="p3">“That’s why you were so quiet,” Ayala said. His forehead creased. “Keeping people away?”</p><p class="p3">“That’s why.”</p><p class="p3">“Huh. I figured you just didn’t like me.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron laughed. “What?”</p><p class="p3">“You never talked to me.”</p><p class="p3">“I didn’t talk to anyone.”</p><p class="p3">“Yeah, but <em>everyone</em> talked to me. Tabor talked to me. Dalby talked to me. Torres talked to me.” Ayala put his hand over Gerron’s, and leaned in. “Ral, even <em>Seska</em> talked to me.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose. “I’m not sure I’d brag about that.”</p><p class="p3">“Fair enough.” Ayala grinned. He hadn’t removed his hand. “So. Unless I’m wrong, that means you do like me?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron swallowed. “Yes. I like you.”</p><p class="p3">“Better late than never,” Ayala said. “That’s another human saying.”</p><p class="p3">“I’ve heard that one before.” Ayala’s smile wasn’t the only thing that could soften his features, Gerron realized. The man’s dark eyes, the way they flicked lightly back and forth while Gerron spoke, the way they showed Ayala didn’t just hear, but listened…</p><p class="p3">“Ral,”Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Not a question, but Gerron couldn’t help answering. “Michael,” he said.</p><p class="p3">Ayala closed what little gap remained between them and kissed him. A slow, deliberate kiss, with just enough pressure to make it perfectly clear Gerron could pull away if he wanted to.</p><p class="p3">He didn’t. Still, the kiss was over far, far too soon.</p><p class="p3">“I like you, too,” Ayala said, his disarming smile more than a little confident.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">Day 207, Raste Territory, 2374</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">“Good morning,” Ballard said, walking onto the bridge. She eyed the viewscreen. “Oh look. It’s the comet. Again.” Then she turned, and her eyebrows rose at Gerron, still seated at Ops. “I thought you’d have turned in by now.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron shook his head, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He vacated the station for her, taking the tactical position, behind Ayala, and logging into the sensors, just for something to do with his hands.</p><p class="p3">She slid into ops.</p><p class="p3">“He was keeping me company,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Ballard looked at Gerron, then Ayala. Ayala tapped on his console. Gerron called up a redundant check on their trajectory. He was sure evidence of their “keeping company” was particularly visible on his chin.</p><p class="p3">Ayala needed to shave.</p><p class="p3">“Uh-huh,” Ballard said, checking something on her own screen. Gerron could hear the grin in her voice. He couldn’t have looked at her for all the kava nut tea in the Alpha Quadrant. “For the record,” she said, “it took you two long enough.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron closed his eyes. “Prophets be with me.”</p><p class="p3">“Hey, I was trying,” Ayala said. “You know what he’s like.”</p><p class="p3">“Quiet? Stubborn?” Ballard said. “Pig-headed?”</p><p class="p3">“I’m sitting right here,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“And you’re blushing up a storm.” Ballard pointed one finger at him. “Don’t worry. It’s adorable.”</p><p class="p3">He threw a desperate glance for help Ayala’s away, but the big man just winked at him, so at ease with her teasing it made him blush all over again.</p><p class="p3">Ayala faced Lyndsay. “So. How’s Elam?”</p><p class="p3">Ballard’s laugh filled the bridge. “He’s <em>fine</em>.”</p><p class="p3">“Uh huh,” Ayala said. “Glass houses, Ensign.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron had no idea what that meant, but Ballard swivelled her chair to face Ayala.</p><p class="p3">She held up one hand, ticking off fingers. “First, I’m not throwing stones, I’m celebrating you both. Second, you have to admit, you two have been taking forever to—”</p><p class="p3">An alarm trilled, cutting her off.</p><p class="p3">Gerron checked the sensors. The readout was a pattern he’d hoped he’d never see. “Spacial distortion. At least eight light-years across and growing. It’s the same as before. Space-time shock wave.”</p><p class="p3">Elam stepped through the doors. “What’s happening?”</p><p class="p3">“Get the temporal shields online,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“I’m on it,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Lindsay?” Elam said. “Ral?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s the Krenim,” Gerron said. “Their warship used its weapon again.”</p><p class="p3">“The <em>Krenim</em>?” Elam scoffed. He crossed to Gerron’s station, leaning over his shoulder. “The Krenim don’t have warships. The Krenim don’t even have warp—” He broke off. “That wave is coming from Izad Rey. My homeworld.” He took the last station, and Gerron could hear the man pulling up information, but he tried to tune it out as he threw together an analysis of the trajectories involved. The wave was moving incredibly fast, but Elam was right. The wave expanded in all directions from a singular point in space, at a system the Ram Izad star charts listed as their homeworld.</p><p class="p3">“Impact in thirty seconds,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“The temporal shield variances aren’t stabilizing,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Twenty-five,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“What’s wrong?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“Something’s disrupting the counter-variance. It’s like it’s being shredded. The comet particulates,” Ballard said. “Get us out of the comet’s tail!”</p><p class="p3">“Fifteen,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Hold on,” Ayala said. He worked the comm. Inertial dampeners did their best, but Gerron felt the ship lurch as Ayala dropped them free of the comet’s particle cloud.</p><p class="p3">“Ten,” Gerron said. “Nine. Eight.”</p><p class="p3">“That did it. Temporal shields coming online,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Brace yourselves. Three, two, one…”</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">Day 208, Krenim Imperium, 2374</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">“He’s finally asleep.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron turned at the sound of Ballard’s voice. He hadn’t even heard the bridge doors open, but there she was.</p><p class="p3">Beside him, still seated at the conn, Ayala said, “How is he?”</p><p class="p3">Ballard blew out a breath. “I don’t really know. I mean, how would you be if someone told you a pre-warp civilization just erased your whole species from all of history?”</p><p class="p3">“They’re not pre-warp anymore,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“They’re not?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron pulled up the sensor readings on his screen and she crossed to look. The local sector was completely different than it had been just hours before. Gone were the orange markings of Ram Izad territory marked by their subspace-signal buoys, with that inconvenient curve of Raste territory in yellow between them and their destination. Now there was an oblong sector of space in a deep green.</p><p class="p3">Including right where they happened to be.</p><p class="p3">“The Raste didn’t come off very well, did they?”</p><p class="p3">“Most of the Krenim Imperium gains came at the Raste’s expense. Well, the Raste and the Ram Izad.” Gerron rubbed his eyes.</p><p class="p3">“So they put themselves back on top,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Not exactly,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“We’ve been comparing scans to the original charts from Voyager, from before the Krenim Imperium ended up pre-warp,” Gerron said. “It’s not the same. Look.” He brought up the data.</p><p class="p3">“Looks like they got about half of their territory back,” Ballard said. “By <em>erasing</em> the Ram Izad.” She shivered visibly.</p><p class="p3">Gerron empathized.</p><p class="p3">Ballard took a deep breath. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala looked up at the ceiling. “We were trying to figure that out.”</p><p class="p3">“There’s no Ram Izad homeworld,” Gerron said. “Or, I mean, there is, but…” He tapped his screen. “It’s just a binary system with a class-M planet now. Hot, but class-M. Three moons, no civilization. There’s no one there to help us, if that’s even where we should keep going.” Gerron paused. “Though it appears to at least be outside of this new version of Krenim space. Barely, but still.”</p><p class="p3">“But it’s also the last place we know that Krenim warship was,” Ayala said. “Given that’s where the wave came from.”</p><p class="p3">“There are also Krenim patrols now,” Gerron said. He brought them up on the screen. “My best guess is they’re fighting with the Raste, and the Raste are losing. None in immediate threat range, but we’ll have to be careful no matter which way we go. I imagine a ship that shouldn’t exist will be of interest to them.”</p><p class="p3">“So the new plan is the old plan?” Ballard said. “Stay out of sight, restock supplies at what was the Ram Izad homeworld?”</p><p class="p3">“Pretty much. If nothing else, biomass and water and anything else we can process or refine ourselves. For now we hide in the comet’s tail until we’re sure we’re out of sensor range,” Ayala said. “Except now we’re hiding from the Krenim patrols, not the Raste, and we need to keep an eye out for the Krenim warship, in case it hasn’t left.”</p><p class="p3">“I used to think that was pretty,” Ballard said, nodding at the viewscreen, where the comet’s tail still danced like snow. “Now I just think comets are tiresome.” She sighed. “Okay. Enough of that. You two have been up for way too long. Let me take the conn. Go get some sleep.”</p><p class="p3">“Are you sure?” Gerron said, but even as he said it, the weight of fatigue dropped on his shoulders and he had to fight off a yawn. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bunk.</p><p class="p3">“You were already due to be relieved before…” Ballard waved a hand at the viewscreen. “All that. You need to sleep. Both of you.”</p><p class="p3">“Just a couple of hours. If the patrol ships stick to the headings we’ve been seeing, I think we’ll be good to go by then.” Ayala got up from the conn. “I’ll relieve you.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard nodded, taking the station.</p><p class="p3">“If Elam wakes up and you need me to cover for you, just let me know,” Gerron said. “It’s possible he’ll have nightmares about today. He told me once. It’s a quirk of Ram Izad biology.”</p><p class="p3">“I know. But he won’t,” Ballard said. “I got him to take a sleep aid. He’ll be out for a good eight hours. He needs it. We all do, but he needed it most.”</p><p class="p3">“You can have the fresher first,” Ayala said, and Gerron’s gratefulness brought tears to his eyes.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">“All yours,” Gerron said, stepping into their small shared quarters. “Thanks for letting me shower first—” He broke off.</p><p class="p3">The small rooms on the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> they used for quarters were modular, and when they’d first taken off from Alshem IV, they’d left things more-or-less set up the Ram Izad default way: a pair of pull-out bunks on opposite walls, the storage space and single seat and desk between. Now the desk and storage rack were shifted all to one end of the room, and the bunks were side-by-side, forming a single, larger bed.</p><p class="p3">“If it’s presumptuous,” Ayala said, “just say so. I can put it back the other way after my shower.” He’d already changed into the shorts he slept in, and held his toothbrush in one hand.</p><p class="p3">Gerron stared at the man.</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s confident smile started to falter a bit around the edges.</p><p class="p3">“Ral?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron only lasted a few more seconds before he broke, and laughed.</p><p class="p3">Ayala cocked his head. “Did you just try to stare me down?”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know how Lyndsay does it,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“You had me going,” Ayala took a step forward, and Gerron tilted his head to look up at him, with a sly little smile of his own.</p><p class="p3">“Just because I don’t mind doesn’t mean it wasn’t presumptuous.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala put the toothbrush in his mouth, wagged his eyebrows, and left the room.</p><p class="p3">“Definitely presumptuous,” Gerron said, but he couldn’t get the smile off his face. It felt wrong, given the events of the day, but if there was anything he'd learned as a Maquis—or during this seemingly relentless year—it was to take the good no matter when it came.</p><p class="p3">He tried to settle into the now-larger bunk with something approaching confidence, at first on top of the blankets—he wondered if they had a full-sized blanket in storage—and then underneath one. Both felt ridiculous. Also, did Michael have a chosen side of the bed he preferred? He remembered Larson saying something about all humans having a preferred side of the bed once, unless that had just been a joke. He was trying to decide if he should just sit at the desk until Ayala returned when the door opened and there he was.</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked at him, fully allowing himself to enjoy the view of the man’s broad chest and strong arms and… He yawned.</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s eyebrows rose. “Ouch.”</p><p class="p3">“Sorry,” Gerron said. His face burned. “I didn’t mean to.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala shook his head though, chuckling, and slid into the bunk beside him. “I wasn’t being <em>that</em> presumptuous. We’re both exhausted.” He rolled onto his side, so the two men could face each other. It was something they’d done most nights, talking before sleep, but now the distance between them was barely a breath, and felt charged. “I just…” Ayala swallowed. “I just didn’t want to be alone. Not after what happened to the Ram Izad.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron understood. An entire species <em>undone</em>. The level of atrocity was too staggering to grasp.</p><p class="p3">“If it hadn’t been for you,” Ayala said. “I’ve got no idea what would have happened to us.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron shook his head, too tired to make the connection. “I don’t follow.”</p><p class="p3">“The shields,” Ayala said. “If we hadn’t had shields the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> wouldn’t exist. Because the Ram Izad wouldn’t exist. Right?”</p><p class="p3">“Oh.” Gerron thought about it. Ayala wasn’t wrong. If the Ram Izad had never existed, then where would they have been? Probably still on the Ram Izad colony world. Only… no. They’d chosen Alshem IV because of the readings Voyager had, and the potential for help the readings of a colonized M-class world suggested, which wouldn’t have been there without the Ram Izad, so… He shook his head. It was too much to consider. All the permutations of cause and effect were beyond him right now.</p><p class="p3">Ayala reached out and traced a finger down the side of Gerron’s face. When Ayala reached his chin, Gerron turned his face enough to kiss his fingertip.</p><p class="p3">Ayala lifted his arm, and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken offer.</p><p class="p3">Gerron shifted on the bunk, closing the distance.</p><p class="p3">Wrapped in the bigger man’s arms, with the lights off, his thoughts went back to considering the potential what-ifs of what their situation might have been without the temporal shields. There were so many variables, though, endless things to consider, and his brain wasn’t up to it. Would they have chosen the same path for the escape pod? They hadn’t had many choices, the world was class-M, and had wanted to scatter the crew to raise their odds of getting through, but…</p><p class="p3"><em>Would I even have ended up in the same escape pod as Michael</em>?</p><p class="p3">He turned his cheek against the man’s chest, and drifted away, the question unanswered.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p4"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Voyager, 2371</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron leaned forward while the Doctor moved the sensor behind his back, gaze on the medical tricorder he held. Apart from an original visit to sick bay to begin a medical file back when they’d first come aboard Voyager, Gerron hadn’t had another reason to visit the hologram at all.</p><p class="p3">Too bad that streak hadn’t continued.</p><p class="p3">“Take a deep breath,” the Doctor said. </p><p class="p3">Gerron tried, but stopped mid-inhale when his chest constricted. He coughed.</p><p class="p3">“Any pain?” the Doctor said.</p><p class="p3">“It’s not painful,” Gerron said. “More like… pressure?” He heard the frustration in his voice, and tried to force it down. It wasn’t the Doctor’s fault, and if he’d learned anything from the past few days it was to temper his frustration. He’d been lucky the damage to his lungs hadn’t been worse, and if it hadn’t been for Tuvok coming back to get him from the cargo bay, he’d be dead.</p><p class="p3">Despite breathing the same gas, Tuvok was already back on duty, while Gerron had been stuck in sickbay for two days already. He wasn’t looking forward to adding a third, but snapping at the hologram wouldn’t help.</p><p class="p3">“That should pass,” the Doctor said. He clipped the sensor back into the medical tricorder and folded it closed. “The alveoli in your lungs were burned by the plasma gas, and it’s going to take some time to recover their capacity.” He turned to the woman beside him. “What would you suggest, Kes?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron eyed the Ocampa. Kes’s expression softened, almost as though she was looking into the air between them, rather than at anyone in particular. After a moment’s consideration, she spoke.</p><p class="p3">“Trioxin would relieve some of the stress on his lungs until the last of the irritation passes.”</p><p class="p3">“<em>Excellent,</em> Kes,” the Doctor said, sounding for all the world like a proud father. He picked up the hypospray, adjusted the dose, and pressed it against Gerron’s neck.</p><p class="p3">The relief was almost immediate, like someone had undone tight bands around his chest.</p><p class="p3">“That feels a lot better,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“It should help you sleep,” Kes said, touching Gerron’s shoulder before she left.</p><p class="p3">“We’ll have you back at your duty station tomorrow, crewman,” the Doctor said, then turned and went back to his office. Gerron waited until he was sure the hologram wasn’t listening, and raised his hand to catch Kes’s attention again.</p><p class="p3">She came back to his bedside. “Yes?”</p><p class="p3">“Did…” He took a breath. It came even easier than the one before. He cleared his throat, eyeing the office again. The Doctor was entering something at his desk. Was it even possible to be out of the hologram’s hearing range? Gerron didn’t know.</p><p class="p3">Kes waited for him, her smile patient and kind. She’d always seemed so, at least. He thought he could trust her to keep his confidence.</p><p class="p3">He made himself ask. “Did I die?”</p><p class="p3">Kes frowned. “I’m sorry?”</p><p class="p3">“Before Tuvok dragged me out of the cargo bay. Was there any point where I…” He knew his face was burning, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Never mind.”</p><p class="p3">“No.” Kes’s gentle voice took some of the sting out of his embarrassment. “You lost consciousness, and had you breathed in much more of the gas the damage to your lungs would have been far more severe, perhaps even fatal, but Tuvok got you out in time. You didn’t die.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Is everything all right?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s…” Gerron shook his head. “It is. Yes. It’s fine. I’m probably just a little tired of sick bay. And maybe I’m struggling with nearly dying because of some cheese.”</p><p class="p3">“Well,” Kes said, with another small squeeze and a little smile. “Maybe don’t put it that way when you see Neelix. He feels terrible enough. But if you’d like to talk, I’m right here.”</p><p class="p3">“Thank you. But I think I’ll try to sleep.”</p><p class="p3">“I’ll dim the lights,” Kes said, reaching up above the bio-bed to do just that.</p><p class="p3">Gerron settled back, tucking one arm under his head and staring up at the ceiling.</p><p class="p3">He hadn’t died. In the cargo bay, when the gas had overwhelmed him and he’d slumped over the railing, some part of him had wondered if it was finally happening, but apparently not.</p><p class="p3">He hadn’t died. Just nearly. He didn’t think it counted.</p><p class="p3"><em>Of all things</em>, he thought, closing his eyes. <em>Cheese</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 257, Izad Rey, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">The first sun of Izad Rey had begun to creep up along the horizon by the time Elam and Ballard returned. Gerron had to smother a small smile at the sight of them, so obviously <em>casual</em> as they approached, laden down with backpacks and carrying two bags each, full of an odd-looking pale orange fruit.</p><p class="p3">Elam was bundled up against the “chill” of the Izad Rey night. Ballard was wearing a short-sleeved shirt.</p><p class="p3">“Apparently,” Ballard said, lifting one of the bags of orange fruit, “we have hit the motherlode of…” She trailed off, then turned to Elam. “I want to say <em>ashlar</em>?”</p><p class="p3">“<em>As’lar</em>,” Elam said. “It has been gone for hundreds of years. Wiped out by a blight when my people created a climactic shift through environmentally damaging technologies.” He took a breath, putting down the sacks. “It was a staple of many rural people, and the loss of the wild fruit trees was calamitous, caused massive legal reforms, and…” He stopped suddenly, shaking his head. “Well. It doesn’t matter now. It’s… strange to see it growing where I know there should be a lake-side village.”</p><p class="p3">Strange wasn’t the word for it, Gerron thought. Horrifying, perhaps.</p><p class="p3">Ballard placed her hand on Elam’s shoulder. He nodded once, almost to himself. “Well. If nothing else, I remember. That’s… that’s something.”</p><p class="p3">“How’d you do?” Ballard asked, coming over to Gerron, clearly changing the subject and giving Elam space to put his game face back on.</p><p class="p3">Gerron held out a fist-sized dilithium crystal.</p><p class="p3">“You mined and extracted that <em>overnight</em>?” Ballard’s eyes grew wide.</p><p class="p3">“It was exactly where Elam said it would be.” Elam had set them down at the site of what had been—before the Ram Izad had been erased from existence—the largest dilithium deposit on the planet, a deposit seeded by the impact of a large, dilithium-rich meteorite that formed the entire valley. “If we had a bigger rig, and more time, I could fill one of those sacks.” He eyed the small refinery set-up they’d brought down from the <em>Jaj vIghaj. </em>“If we stay longer,” he said. “I could easily get more.”</p><p class="p3">“That’s already more than we could possibly need,” Ballard said. “Even in an emergency.”</p><p class="p3">“Ayala to away team. How fast can you be ready for a pick-up?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron and Ballard shared a look. Gerron tapped his combadge.</p><p class="p3">“We’re at the refinery site,” he said. “What’s wrong?”</p><p class="p3">“We’ve got company coming.” Ayala’s voice had the calm edge Gerron knew he put on when he was tense.</p><p class="p3">“Krenim?” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Krenim.”</p><p class="p3">“Do we need to beam up?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“I’d prefer it,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“The refinery rig,” Gerron said. Leaving it behind felt like a terrible option, but breaking it down would take time. “Can we beam it up?”</p><p class="p3">“Let’s get you three first.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron was already working to break down the housing of the rig. If he could at least separate the extractor from the processor, at least that part of the rig could be beamed up. </p><p class="p3">Elam came to join them, carrying all four of the bags of fruit.</p><p class="p3">Ballard grabbed two of them. “Okay.”</p><p class="p3">“You first, Lyndsay,” Ayala said. “Then you can take over.”</p><p class="p3">The blue-white shimmer of a transporter wrapped over Ballard. She, and her full backpack, vanished. Gerron got the extractor off, putting it a half-step away from the rest of the rig.</p><p class="p3">“Stand by, Elam,” Ballard’s voice said. Their system had originally been designed for a one-way emergency trip, and took time to recharge.</p><p class="p3">Still, Gerron picked up speed, doing his best to decouple the sequencer—the next most important piece—moving as fast as he could manage with some degree of safety.</p><p class="p3">Elam vanished a few moments later.</p><p class="p3">Gerron finished with the sequencer, and eyed the rest of the rig. He grabbed the extractor, holding it against his chest, and had a few seconds to eye the horizon.</p><p class="p3">The second sun of Izad Rey was cresting the horizon as the beam caught him and stole him away.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">He stepped off the transporter pad and put down the extractor. “The sequencer is there, too, if there’s time.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard nodded. “On it.”</p><p class="p3">He stepped past her and got to the bridge as fast as he could. Elam was on tactical, Ayala at the conn. Gerron slipped into the ops station and pulled up the readings, not liking the set of Ayala’s shoulders, or the way he was working his panel in utter silence.</p><p class="p3">Four ships. There were four Krenim vessels approaching the Izad Rey system, multiple vectors. They had some time, but not much, and they’d have to clear the system before they could go to warp.</p><p class="p3">“Prophets,” he breathed.</p><p class="p3">“That’s about the sum of it,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">The door opened and Ballard slipped in, taking the final station. “Got the rig.”</p><p class="p3">“Great,” Ayala said. “Any thoughts on where to go next, Elam?”</p><p class="p3">The Ram Izad man took a second, tapping on his screen. “I know you want to get past the Krenim Imperium’s borders, but at this point our survival needs to be considered in the balance.” A route appeared on the viewscreen.</p><p class="p3">“Further away from the border,” Ballard said. “But not in the direction we want to go.”</p><p class="p3">“Correct,” Elam said. There was real sorrow in his voice. “With the Krenim Imperium’s borders the way they are, I think our best bet is to give them a wide berth.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked at Ayala. His jaw was set. He glanced at Gerron. Their gazes met. He could see the question in Ayala’s dark eyes.</p><p class="p3">Gerron checked his readings a second time, wishing he had something else to offer. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he nodded.</p><p class="p3">“Okay,” Ayala said. The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> broke orbit, and went to full impulse the moment they were clear.</p><p class="p3">“They’ve definitely seen us,” Gerron said. “Two of them dropped out of warp long enough to change their headings…” He worked his console. “They’re trying to cage us in.”</p><p class="p3">“Let’s not let that happen, shall we?” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">Ballard laughed. “I’ve got shields ready, and disruptors standing by.”</p><p class="p3">In a fight, though, they all knew any firepower the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> had was going to be outmatched quickly. This version of history had put the Krenim on a pretty even level with their weaponry, if Gerron’s long-range scans from their time in the comet were correct. At even two-to-one, things would be dicey. And four-to-one?</p><p class="p3">Well.</p><p class="p3">“They don’t know we can stop their torpedoes,” Ayala said. “They’ll be overconfident.” He’d adjusted their trajectory, and it was going to buy them more time, but the longer Gerron watched his display, the more it became clear the Krenim had timed their arrival well. They must have caught the <em>Jaj vIghaj </em>on their long-range sensors at some point, and called in back-up.</p><p class="p3">“I’ll have as many escape vectors plotted as I can,” Gerron said, already working on it. He had the computer calculate the interception of he first two ships and blew out a breath. “They’re going to be here in less than a minute.”</p><p class="p3">“Red alert,” Ayala said. “If one of you isn’t too busy to do a klaxon noise.”</p><p class="p3">Ballard laughed again, and Gerron couldn’t help but smile.</p><p class="p3">Even Elam chuckled. “I assume that’s a Starfleet joke.”</p><p class="p3">“Something like that,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">And then the Krenim dropped out of warp.</p><p class="p3">“They’re hailing us,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“By all means,” Ayala said. “Let’s buy as much time as we can. Keep feeding me options, Gerron.”</p><p class="p3">“Got it.” Which was the best of all their awful options? He bit his lip, considering, then shook his head. Pick one. Make it work. He remembered their run-in with the Raste and had an idea. “Here.” He sent the course to Ayala, and Ayala glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, but whatever reply he might have given was lost when the screen to their left changed to the view of a Krenim commander.</p><p class="p3">“On screen,” Elam said, with barely hidden loathing.</p><p class="p3">“Unregistered ship, you will power down and prepare for boarding or we will open fire,” the commander said, barely bothering to look up to see who he was speaking to. “You are in contested space.”</p><p class="p3">The channel closed.</p><p class="p3">“Well, you were right about the overconfident thing,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“We’re going to head straight for him,” Ayala said. “Just like last time.”</p><p class="p3">“Ah,” Elam said. “The poetry maneuver.”</p><p class="p3">“Raise shields, Lyndsay.”</p><p class="p3">The moment their shields were up, the lead ship fired a single torpedo. Ayala jagged the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> and managed to dodge, but their victory was short lived. Both ships fired in response, and there was no place to go. The first torpedo struck the shields, rocking the ship but holding. The second hit harder.</p><p class="p3">“Shields at fifty-eight percent,” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“They’re moving back,” Elam said.</p><p class="p3">“They're used to bullying ships who can't stop their torpedoes,” Ayala said, tightening their approach toward the lead ship and bringing the <em>Jaj vIghaj </em>right up to full impulse.</p><p class="p3">If he could just get between the two ships, Gerron thought. They’d stand a chance if they could pull off another piece of… what had Elam called it? <em>Poetry</em>.</p><p class="p3">His readings lit up. It took him a few precious seconds to parse what he was seeing. It wasn’t either of the Krenim ships, nor the two still inbound. A distortion wave…</p><p class="p3">“It’s happening again!” Gerron nearly yelled the words. “There’s another temporal shock wave, coming fast!”</p><p class="p3">“Lyndsay?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">“If I take power from—”</p><p class="p3">“Do it,” Ayala said, and he dropped the ship away from the wave. A Krenim torpedo sailed passed their viewscreen.</p><p class="p3">“Five, four, three,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Sixty-two percent!” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">There was a flare as the wave hit the ship, and Gerron—</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">—existed in the light.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t understand.”</p><p class="p3">His voice, but he hadn’t spoken. He turned—though he didn’t move—and saw himself, facing his family—no, not his family, the Prophets—all of whom surrounded the other him.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will own the day,” his brother Karm said.</p><p class="p3">Tears sprang into Gerron’s eyes—his sight was clear—and he wondered if the shields had failed.</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral lives twice,” his father said.</p><p class="p3">If the shields had failed, was he gone from time? Erased?</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral dies twice,” his mother said.</p><p class="p3">Or was he dead? Was this… it? Was this what the Prophets meant?</p><p class="p3">“Gerron Ral will be, and be,” his brother Neryn said.</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know what you mean,” the past version of him said, his back still to Gerron.</p><p class="p3">Could he warn him? He decided to try. “Ral!”</p><p class="p3">The other him faced him, frowned, looked at the combadge on his chest, and—</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">“Everyone okay?” Ayala’s voice made Gerron jump in his chair.</p><p class="p3"><em>Orb shadow</em>. He’d gone back to the Prophets for a moment. He swallowed, shaking off the image of his younger self, his family, and tried to bring the sensors back online.</p><p class="p3">“Shields held a two percent,” Ballard said. “I rerouted power from every system but life support, so it’s going to take me a minute.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron’s screen returned to life. He ran a scan, frowned, and ran it again. “They’re gone. The Krenim ships. They’re gone, and…” He turned to Elam. “Are you seeing this?”</p><p class="p3">Elam lifted both hands, pressing his palms together in front of his lips, his eyes running over all the readings Gerron sent to his display. “Ram Izad vessels,” he said. “And the Gora Orbital Platform. The channels…” He turned to them. “They’re back. <em>They’re all back</em>.”</p><p class="p3">“What happened?” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron shook his head. He had no idea. “I don’t have long-range sensors. I can’t tell where the new borders might be.”</p><p class="p3">“This all looks right,” Elam said. He turned to Ayala. “May I get us permission to land? I have an office, and access to the Ram Izad communications network.”</p><p class="p3">“Landing would be good,” Ballard said. “That second torpedo did a number on the warp drive.”</p><p class="p3">“Go ahead,” Ayala said.</p><p class="p3">Elam opened a channel. “Tyash Platform, this is Elam vir Praeder on board the <em>Jaj vIghaj… </em>uh, Dasher 47<em>. </em>Request a landing station.”</p><p class="p3">A voice replied a moment later. “This is Tyash. Voice print confirmed, you have permission at station four. Welcome home, Dasher 47.”</p><p class="p3">“I’m getting the co-ordinates,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Laying in a course,” Ayala said. Then, with another little grin, he added. “Blue Alert?”</p><p class="p3">Ballard did a remarkably apt impersonation of the klaxon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Voyager, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron turned. His roommate, Larson, crossed his arms.</p><p class="p3"><em>Oh no</em>.</p><p class="p3">“I thought you were on duty tonight,” Gerron said, trying to think quickly.</p><p class="p3">“I was. But my shift ended,” Larson said. “Why aren’t you already at the party?”</p><p class="p3">“I was just going to change,” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“You are the <em>worst</em> liar, Ral.” Larson’s stern face softened. “You’re not going to go, are you?”</p><p class="p3">“No, I was…” Gerron sighed. “Okay, fine. I was thinking of getting some sleep. Crewman Emmanuel and I have been working non-stop on integrating the last of the stellar cartography feeds from the new astrometrics lab, and—“</p><p class="p3">“<em>And</em>,” Larson interrupted. “You would rather be asleep because at parties sometimes people talk to you and ask you questions, so you hate parties?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron scowled. “I don’t mind parties.”</p><p class="p3">“Yes you do.” Larson crossed their shared quarters, and opened one of the drawers. “But you should go. Like you said, you worked hard on this. You should celebrate.” He rummaged for a moment, and then pulled out a garishly patterned bright cloth. “Here. Try this.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron took the shirt when Larson held it out. “This is… bright.”</p><p class="p3">“It’s a Hawai’ian shirt. Traditional party wear.”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t think it will fit,” Gerron said, holding up the shirt against his chest. Larson was significantly broader than he was. “But thank you.” He handed the cloth back.</p><p class="p3">Larson put the shirt away, then turned. “How about a hat?”</p><p class="p3">“You’re not going to let me stay here, are you?” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">“Hey, you’re the one who said ‘Zach, sometimes I need a push.’” Larson held out his hands. “I am fulfilling roommate duties here. You made me promise to push, remember?”</p><p class="p3">“I remember saying it,” Gerron said. “<em>Four years ago</em>. I also remember all the drinking we’d done before I said it. Which was your fault.”</p><p class="p3">“More like three years ago, and you still need the pushes. And a little Denobulan brandy to loosen you up was my last resort,” Larson said. “Need I remind you of the first six <em>months</em> of silence from my roommate?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron eyed him. The gregarious security crewman had tried hard to make Gerron feel welcome when they’d first been assigned to share quarters, and Gerron… Well. He’d definitely not given Larson an easy time of it. “It was good brandy,” he admitted.</p><p class="p3">“Ral, you know I can’t make you go, right?” Larson said. “You don’t have to go to the party if you don’t want to.”</p><p class="p3">Relief flooded Gerron.</p><p class="p3">“But…”</p><p class="p3"><em>Prophets be with me</em>.</p><p class="p3">“I <em>am</em> going to be practicing before I got to bed,” Larson said, picking up his guitar from where it stood near his bunk.</p><p class="p3">Gerron stared. “Practicing?” Larson had a lot of enthusiasm for the instrument, which he claimed to have studied in his youth. Talent and skill, on the other hand, weren’t yet in abundance.</p><p class="p3">“Have you ever heard of Andorian Blues?” Larson placed the strap over his neck.</p><p class="p3">“No.” The last vestiges of Gerron’s relief fled. “I haven’t.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Larson’s eyebrows rose. “Remember when I played for you last time?”</p><p class="p3">“The ‘Country Music’?” Gerron barely avoided a shudder.</p><p class="p3">“Yes. It’s like that. Only sadder.” Larson eyed his fingers, placing them just so, then grinned up at him again. “And definitely louder.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron rose off his chair. “You know what? I don’t need to change. I don’t think anyone else will be dressing up.”</p><p class="p3">“Okay,” Larson said, already strumming.</p><p class="p3">Gerron paused at the door. “You’re evil, Zach.”</p><p class="p3">“I know it,” Larson didn’t look up. “Have fun!” </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Silver constellations hung from the ceiling of the stellar cartography lab, hanging just low enough that Gerron could reach up and set them spinning. He tapped an Earth constellation, Ursa Major, then glanced around the room, catching the eye of Ensign Jenny Delaney as she explained something to Crewman Doyle. Everyone in the room was still in uniform, which made him feel even better for having turned down Larson’s vibrant shirt.</p><p class="p3">To his surprise, Ensign Delaney waved her hand for him to come over.</p><p class="p3">Half-way across the lab, Ensign Jurot passed him a cup. He paused long enough to thank her, then reached Jenny and Doyle.</p><p class="p3">“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Delaney said, with just enough of a smile to let him know she was teasing.</p><p class="p3">“And miss a party?” Gerron said.</p><p class="p3">Doyle and Delaney laughed, and Gerron managed an embarrassed shrug.</p><p class="p3">“I’m just glad we’re done,” Doyle said. “I can’t wait go get back to normal.”</p><p class="p3">“Normal?” Delaney laughed. “Do you have any idea the volume of sensor logs we’re going to be dealing with from now on? Astrometrics is going to <em>flood</em> us.”</p><p class="p3">Doyle groaned, but just like Delaney’s teasing, it had no real bite to it.</p><p class="p3">Gerron glanced around again. He noticed Crewman Emmanuel off to one side with Ensign Megan Delaney, underneath one of the silver paper constellations. He blinked, recognizing the constellation in question as the Prophet’s Arch. A Bajoran constellation.</p><p class="p3">“Who made the decorations?” Gerron said, turning back to Delaney and Doyle.</p><p class="p3">“Crewman White,” Delaney said. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”</p><p class="p3">“She made one from Bajor,” Gerron said, and pointed. “The Prophet’s Arch.”</p><p class="p3">“She made at least one from the homeworlds of everyone in the department,” Delaney said.</p><p class="p3">Gerron took a moment to find White, and caught her attention with a little wave. He pointed at The Prophet’s Arch, then smiled. “They’re lovely,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the general chatter.</p><p class="p3">“Thank you.” She grinned back at him.</p><p class="p3">“Thank you for that,” Delaney said. “Seven of Nine wasn’t quite as gracious.”</p><p class="p3">“Seven of Nine came to the party?” Gerron looked for the former Borg, but didn’t see her.</p><p class="p3">“No,” Doyle said. “I mean, yes, but only to drop something off. She said the decorations, ‘though festive, were not particularly accurate.’” </p><p class="p3">Gerron winced.</p><p class="p3">“Remember the good old days when you were the one who made everything awkward, Gerron?” Delaney said.</p><p class="p3">Doyle laughed, and Gerron managed something akin to a chuckle. He eyed the Prophet’s Arch again. Crewman White’s gesture wasn’t lost on him, and he vowed once again to try harder with his coworkers, starting with staying at the party for at least an hour.</p><p class="p3">He surreptitiously checked the time on the master display.</p><p class="p3">Okay, maybe half an hour.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Day 257, Izad Rey, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">People were staring at them.</p><p class="p3">“We’re drawing some attention,” Gerron said, pitching his voice low. The four had left the <em>Jaj vIghaj </em>on the designated landing platform, stepping out into what felt like Vulcan-level heat. Elam was leading them to his office, in a large, curving tower nearby. Given their group was made up of two humans, a Bajoran, and Elam walking together, he supposed it made sense, but it didn’t make the glances any more comfortable.</p><p class="p3">“Tyash Platform is owned by the communications network governing body,” Elam said. “So it sees a lot of different species visiting. It's fine. You’re something new, and something new is bound to catch attention, but don't worry about it.” The Ram Izad man was looking left and right, and kept letting out little laughs of approval.</p><p class="p3">“You okay?” Ballard said.</p><p class="p3">“Everything is right as it should be,” Elam said. “I was starting to come to terms with it all being gone, and now…” He raised both hands. “I cannot tell you the joy I’m feeling right now.” He paused in his walk, took Ballard by the shoulders, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and reciprocated for a beat, then pulled back.</p><p class="p3">“I’m so happy for you,” she said. “But is there a chance we could go somewhere out of the suns?”</p><p class="p3">“Right. I’m sorry. This is… this is a lot. My office is this way,” Elam said, leading them into the lobby of the large building.</p><p class="p3">It wasn’t much cooler inside, but at least the heat lost the edge of the blazing suns. The lobby was wide, with two symmetrical arcs around a front reception area, and a bank of what looked like lifts to either side. Elam stepped up to one of the lift doors, and pressed his hand to a reader. It lit up, and the doors opened. Elam took a second to tap a few symbols onto the screen before he stepped inside.</p><p class="p3">“Just hold your hands up to the screen before you enter,” he said. “I’m allowed guests, and it will register you as visitors.”</p><p class="p3">They followed his instructions and stepped inside. The lift glided into a smooth rise, the walls revealed to be transparent once they were past the lobby’s tall ceiling. Greenery grew inside the centre columns of the tower, with rings of what appeared to be various offices or stations around them.</p><p class="p3">The lift slowed at a level near the uppermost of the building. When the doors opened, Elam led them around the curve of the hallway until he approached a door, which opened as he arrived.</p><p class="p3">“My office,” he said, waving them inside.</p><p class="p3">It was large, and beautifully appointed with what Gerron took to be carved wooden furnishings for the most part. The artwork on the walls was particularly striking, abstracts in shades of reds, oranges, and yellows in symmetrical patterns.</p><p class="p3">And the view was incredible. He moved to the window, looking down over what he assumed was Tyash Platform and more of the city beyond. Everywhere, he noted the nods to symmetry and balance. Arches, buildings built as reflections of each other, parallel streets and avenues.</p><p class="p3">It was beautiful.</p><p class="p3">Elam sat at his desk, and started working a console. A large section of the wall opposite the desk lit up with symbols. Gerron reluctantly turned away from the window to join the others.</p><p class="p3">“Okay,” Elam said. “According to the most recent reports…” He glanced up. “These are the local borders.”</p><p class="p3">One by one, sectors appeared on a large-scale map of local space. Ayala pulled out a PADD and pulled up the records they had from Voyager, and glanced back and forth. “It’s different, again.”</p><p class="p3">“Ram Izad space is as I remember it,” Elam said. “I can’t see a single difference. But I’ve never even heard of the Rilar—the people on the far side of the Krenim Imperium, there. He took another moment. “Who are the Malkoth? The Alsuran Empire?” He shook his head. “There are dozens of smaller civilizations all along the Krenim Imperium border I’ve never heard of before.” He pointed. “The Zahl. That’s another I don’t know.”</p><p class="p3">“The Garenor are back,” Ayala said. “But the Raste are in trouble, aren't they?” The large wedge of space between the Krenim Imperium and the Ram Izad no longer belonged to the Raste. They’d been reduced to a few systems scattered here and there. Borders the Ram Izad used to share with the Raste were now borders with the Krenim.</p><p class="p3">“They’re listed in dispute with the Krenim,” Elam said. “As are the Rilar. The Raste never were particularly politically astute, and given their tendency to bullying…” He blew out a breath. “I think they’re on the wane. Most of our current data shows them more or less in holding positions. It seems their conflict is all but over, and they lost.”</p><p class="p3">“Is there any mention of Voyager?” Ballard said, pointing. “That system there is where we first crossed into Krenim space, where the Zahl are. And we evacuated Voyager there.”</p><p class="p3">Elam took a few moments with the controls. He frowned.</p><p class="p3">“I’m not sure. Or records say an alien vessel named Voyager traded with us at one of our colony worlds,” Elam touched the screen, and the vertical columns of Ram Izad writing scrolled into further detail as a system on the farthest edge of Ram Izad space lit up. “But that was almost a year ago. I’ve got no data of any evacuation, or of any interactions at all, really.”</p><p class="p3">“There’s nothing else? Can you figure out where Voyager is now?” Ayala said. Gerron could hear the strain in his voice. Even with their subspace beacon, how would Voyager even <em>begin</em> to try and find the three of them?</p><p class="p3"><em>Except</em>… Gerron frowned. He remembered thoughts he’d had the night the Ram Izad had initially been removed from the timeline. The same overwhelming snarls of cause and effect, and changes and consequences, struck him again. Too many variables to know, of course, but if Voyager never came into Krenim space, but went <em>around</em> it…</p><p class="p3">“Let me see.” Elam turned back to the console. “The communications network is freely accessible among many of the other species governments. Oh. It seems we have a cordial, if not open, connection with the Krenim Imperium, so I might be able to access their records and see if—”</p><p class="p3">Without warning, the screen went blank.</p><p class="p3">Elam tried again. A single column of symbols appeared. “I’ve been locked out.”</p><p class="p3">“What?” Ballard said. “Why?”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know. It’s not accepting my credentials.” Elam tried again, but the same symbols appeared on the screen.</p><p class="p3">“That’s because they’re <em>my</em> credentials,” came a voice from behind them.</p><p class="p3">All four turned. Standing at the entrance to the office were three people. Two Ram Izad in their usual rust-coloured uniforms Gerron had never met before stood to either side of… Elam vir Praeder.</p><p class="p3">“Who are you?” both men said at the same time. Then they scowled at each other, in perfect unison.</p><p class="p3">“Stop that,” they both snapped.</p><p class="p3">In another situation, it might have been funny.</p><p class="p3">Gerron looked back and forth between the two. The Elam vir Praeder by the door had a spotless uniform, compared to the more worn one the Elam vir Praeder at the console sported. Their hair, too, was a shade different, their Elam’s longer than the new version of him at the door. But they were clearly the same person.</p><p class="p3">“No data of an evacuation,” Gerron said. The snarling, twisting thoughts about cause and effect returned, but this time the tangle frayed out at a single conclusion, and the full weight of realization stole his breath. <em>No data of an evacuation</em>.</p><p class="p3">“Who are you people?” The door version of Elam demanded. “What evacuation?”</p><p class="p3">Gerron saw the moment Ballard understood. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and she let out a single soft cry before she sank against the edge of the terminal desk.</p><p class="p3">“No. Oh no…” She shook her head.</p><p class="p3">“Ral?” Ayala said. “Lyndsay?”</p><p class="p3">“They never abandoned ship,” Ballard said. “Voyager didn’t enter Krenim space. Captain Janeway never ordered our evacuation. <em>We</em> never abandoned Voyager.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala shook his head. “Yes we did.”</p><p class="p3">“The shields.” It took every bit of effort Gerron had not to choke on his words. “The temporal shields. The <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> and everyone in it…” He swallowed. “Everything else changed. But not us.”</p><p class="p3">Ayala stared at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He might not have the whole of it, but Gerron saw understanding clouding his eyes now.</p><p class="p3">“If you don’t explain what’s going on, and why you’ve got someone posing as me interfacing with the network,” the Elam at the door said, “then I’ll be forced to place you under arrest.”</p><p class="p3">“We’re from the Federation starship Voyager,” Ayala said, voice rough, but taking the lead. “We needed to know if…” He swallowed. “We’d hoped we could get in touch with our ship. Our crew.” His was already rallying, his tone recovering now. “Elam was helping us.”</p><p class="p3">“<em>That</em> isn’t Elam,” the second Elam vir Praeder snapped. “<em>I’m</em> Elam.”</p><p class="p3">“You’re <em>both</em> Elam,” Gerron said. Everyone turned to look at him, and this time, he didn’t look away. He found Ayala’s gaze, and held it. “It’s just the four of us here, including this Elam? We’re living twice.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Day 259, Izad Rey, 2374</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Gerron stared up at the night sky, grateful for the cooler air of the night and the wash of bright stars spread out above him. When the door opened behind him, he didn’t turn. Ayala joined him, looking up as well. After a moment, Gerron took his hand, lacing their fingers together.</p><p class="p3">When Ayala squeezed, the relief he felt was palpable.</p><p class="p3">“I’m so sorry,” Gerron said. He’d been wanting to say it for two days, but they’d spent most of that time being interviewed, together and separately, by Ram Izad officials. This was the first evening the four of them had been together again, and alone. Elam—<em>their</em> Elam—had delivered the final verdict from the Ram Izad: the investigators believed the four were absolutely telling the truth. It helped they had the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em>—a modified version of a dasher the investigators had confirmed currently sat on a launch pad on Alshem IV—and their sensor logs, and, most importantly, the genetically <em>identical</em> Elam vir Praeder they’d been travelling with for the better part of a year.</p><p class="p3">The duplicate dasher and Elam also crushed the last remaining hope Gerron had entertained of the three of them having vanished from Voyager, which surely would have caused the crew to at least <em>try</em> to find them—but no, if the dasher was back on Alshem IV as well as here, and a second Elam who’d never met them existed, then somewhere, out there on Voyager…</p><p class="p3">Another Gerron. Another Ballard. Another Ayala. </p><p class="p3">The Ram Izad hadn’t just been apologetic for their treatment. Once they realized the truth they’d gone from skepticism to treating the four of them as honoured guests. Elam—not <em>their</em> Elam, the other one—had offered to let them use the small home they were staying in now and had greeted his other self with an honorific their universal translators couldn’t translate, but had made Elam raise his hands in a gesture of sincere gratitude.</p><p class="p3">Once the four of them there alone, Elam—<em>their</em> Elam—had explained the title to mean something greater than an identical twin. A second soul, he’d said. Gerron remembered their talks about the Ram Izad love of balance and symmetry.</p><p class="p3">“We have become, in a very real sense, something of a spiritual treasure to my people,” Elam said. “<em>His</em> people. Our people?” He laughed, a brittle sound that shared a room with sorrow. “I can’t decide which pronouns most suit. Come. Let me show you around my…his…” He snorted again. “Let me show you the house.”</p><p class="p3">They’d shared a meal in near silence, not talking much about the reality facing them. For the first meal in months, Ballard didn’t bring up her game. Gerron knew harder conversations would come in the morning, once they’d all had time to truly sleep. Ballard and Elam had left for one room together, leaning on each other for comfort.</p><p class="p3">After, Gerron found he couldn’t handle the quiet between him and Michael, but also couldn’t bring himself to break it. He’d stepped out onto the deck and stared up at the stars.</p><p class="p3">And, finally, apologized. </p><p class="p3">Ayala squeezed his hand again. “Don’t be sorry,” he said.</p><p class="p3">“But this is my fault.” And there it was. He’d said it out loud. If he hadn’t decided the <em>Jaj vIghaj</em> needed temporal shielding in the first place, they’d be where they no doubt already were, in a very real sense: back on Voyager. They wouldn’t be standing here, castoffs from a timeline that never was, alive but lost, with no one to know they were even missing.</p><p class="p3">Because they <em>weren’t</em>.</p><p class="p3"><em>Gerron Ral lives twice</em>. It made sense now. But would it have killed the Prophets to warn him he’d bring three innocent people along for the ride?</p><p class="p3">“Ral.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron turned, willing himself to look. If there was anger on Ayala’s face, he’d deserve it. He’d spend the rest of his life—<em>this</em> life—trying to make it better for Michael, no matter what it took. And Lyndsay and Elam, too. Gerron had known for years at some point <em>everything</em> would change. He couldn’t have expected the sheer scope of it, true, but the Prophets had at least prepared him. Michael and Lyndsay and Elam hadn’t gotten even that warning.</p><p class="p3">He couldn’t blame them if they were furious with him.</p><p class="p3">So he braced himself, and met Michael’s eyes.</p><p class="p3">Michael Ayala’s face held no anger. Sadness, yes. Tears, too. But also that little smile that softened everything about the big human.</p><p class="p3">Gerron blinked away his own tears, and when Ayala pulled him in, he pushed up into the embrace. They held onto each other, tight, just squeezing and breathing, as seconds became minutes. When Gerron finally pulled back, Ayala didn’t let go, resting one arm across Gerron’s shoulders while they both turned back to the stars again.</p><p class="p3">“What do you think they’ll want to do?” Gerron asked, once he was sure his voice wouldn’t be too raw. It wasn’t the real question he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t feeling brave enough, even after that hug.</p><p class="p3">“Keep going,” Ayala said. “Lyndsay, for sure. But I think Elam will want to go with her. At least for a while.”</p><p class="p3">“Yeah.” Personally, Gerron would bet “for a while” would never pass into anything else. He’d seen the way the man looked at Lyndsay. Choosing between someone he loved and a world where he was, quite literally, superfluous?</p><p class="p3">That didn’t strike him as a difficult decision.</p><p class="p3"><em>Someone he loved</em>. Gerron made himself speak, looking up at Ayala. “And you?”</p><p class="p3">Ayala’s smile grew. “My sons are in the Alpha quadrant.”</p><p class="p3">“They are.” Gerron felt his own smile grow in return.</p><p class="p3">“So…” Ayala pointed his free hand. “I’m going to head that way.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron nudged him. “Is that even the right direction?”</p><p class="p3">“I have no idea. You’re the navigator.” Ayala paused. “If you’ll come, I mean. With us. With me.”</p><p class="p3">Gerron nodded. “Of course I will. We’ll need a faster ship, though.”</p><p class="p3">“Well, Elam is a <em>second soul</em>. I bet he can wrangle us a new one. Or we’ll teach the Ram Izad to improve their ships again, and barter our way to something. Not to mention shields that can stand up against Krenim Imperium torpedoes. That has to be worth something. And did you see how the Ram Izad reacted when he told them he had four bags of <em>As’lar</em> fruit? It might be the first time in history a starship was paid for in fruit.”</p><p class="p3">“Maybe the fruit can convince them to use pylon nacelles,” Gerron said. “I’d really like to put my introduction to warp geometry holodeck training to use again.”</p><p class="p3">Michael smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “I think a second soul can do pretty much anything.”</p><p class="p3">In the distance, a light rose from the city, a ship rising into the sky. Gerron tracked it until he lost it among the stars. A cargo ship, maybe. Perhaps even making a run to the Alshem IV colony.</p><p class="p3">“Second soul is a lovely way to put it. Better than ‘<em>Gerron Ral lives twice,</em>’” Gerron said. He leaned against Ayala, and took a breath. “Ever since the Prophets told me I’d live twice, I’ve spent my time wondering if either of those lives could ever turn out to be something good. Something I wanted. If I’d get a life worth living either time. But now I know. I do.”</p><p class="p3">“Hey.” Ayala squeezed him again. “I’m sure he’s very happy, back there on Voyager.”</p><p class="p3">“Oh. Him? Maybe,” Gerron said. “But I wasn’t talking about him, Michael.”</p><p class="p3">When Ayala turned to look at him, Gerron rose on his toes, and offered up a kiss far more eloquent than anything he might figure out how to say. The big man returned the kiss in kind, and when it became clear neither of them intended to let go any time soon, Gerron pulled back enough to start leading Ayala back inside the house, to the room Elam had made up for them.</p><p class="p3">Somewhere between the balcony and the room, Gerron Ral began living his second life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Most of the inspiration for this one came from a dream: I found myself watching a different season of Voyager that I'd somehow missed, and one of the episodes was about lower-decks crew during the Year of Hell. I scribbled it down when I woke, and it sort of sat there in the back of my head. The rest of it came from wanting more from Gerron (I never understood why they didn't use him in the Tabor role later), and wishing better for Ballard (sort of an have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too scenario). And, okay, fine, Ayala is just hunky.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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